


The heartbreak that aches far too much

by this_gdmn_thing



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23740378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_gdmn_thing/pseuds/this_gdmn_thing
Summary: That day on the mountain, when Geralt unleashes all his hurt and guilt in an angry stream of words, Jaskier’s heart breaks. It’s the worst pain he has ever felt. Jaskier tries to pull himself through it, but the hurt steels away his usual cheeriness and inspiration. Gradually he stops eating, drinks away his sorrow and gets into fights. Eventually, he’s left feeling hollow. Just when Jaskier thinks he has hit rock bottom an unexpected turn of events shoves his still broken heart back into his chest.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 73
Kudos: 380
Collections: Angsty Angst Times, Geralt is Sorry





	1. Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning!** Big trigger warning for **suicidality, self harm, depression and alcohol use**. If you are sensitive to this kind of content please read with caution, especially later chapters! Please stay safe and take care of yourself mentally! 
> 
> English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any spelling errors, grammatical errors or Dutch-isms.

**Shock**

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take YOU off my hands..._

Jaskier isn’t someone who cries easily. Many have seen him cry before, but it had never been genuine tears. He’s very good at putting on a show, crying just for the theatrics. But his real tears are only reserved for truly sad moments. Truly sad moments like the death of a loved one. Jaskier hasn’t experienced many of these sincerely tear jerking moments, seeing that he doesn’t have many loved ones. But he is not going to let this be the thing that has him break down, that has him spilling real tears. 

But now, while he’s standing on top of a mountain, he can feel a pain in his chest. With every word Geralt spits at him, it feels like a dagger is stabbed into his heart. Jaskier is fighting back tears as the witcher continues to shout at him. 

Geralt turns away from him coldly and Jaskier bites his lip. What could he possibly say? Just a day before he’d told the witcher that he was trying to find out what pleases him. Suggesting to get away from this horrible mountain together, maybe take a vacation from all the monster hunting. This confession had been the closest Jaskier had ever come to confessing his love for Geralt. But the witcher had said nothing and had gone to spend the night with the sorceress Yennefer, leaving Jaskier behind alone in the cold night. Clearly, he isn’t what pleases Geralt. He blinks, trying not to get choked up. 

“Well then…” he says, swallowing thickly. “See you around Geralt.”

Jaskier turns around, walking back to get his things. His hands are clenched tightly into fists, he’s biting his lip to keep the tears from falling. He feels like he has been stabbed a hundred times, he feels like his chest has been ripped open and his heart is about to fall out, broken.

Jaskier gathers his belongings. One last time he looks back at where Geralt is standing, his back still facing Jaskier. He lets out a shuddering sigh before he starts his long journey back down. 

His whole body feels heavy. His feet are slightly dragging in the sand and each step takes more effort as he walks further and further away from the top.

“I’m not gonna cry,” he sighs. “I’m not gonna cry, not over this…”

But his tears are already falling. Jaskier can’t stop them anymore and a heavy sob escapes his throat. 

“How could he do this to me?”

Jaskier angrily wipes away his tears, increasing his pace. He wants to get off this mountain as quickly as possible. It wasn’t like a slight increase in his walking speed would get him off the mountain any quicker, it will take days and Jaskier feels helpless at the thought.

“How could he leave me here!” Jaskier screams in desperation as he kicks a rock off the path he's walking on. His boot slips in the sand, he trips and stumbles before falling to his knees. “It’s not fair.” Jaskier’s sobbing now, his head in his hands. 

He’s shaking, his shoulders shocking up and down while he weeps. 

The pain in his chest is growing, like more daggers are being pushed between his ribs. Jaskier clutches at his doublet and lets out a pained cry. It feels like his heart has been ripped out, tossed to the ground and stomped on until it broke into a million pieces. Stomped on by someone he cared about deeply, a loved one, someone who Jaskier thought cared about him deeply too. Stomped on by Geralt…

Another wail escapes Jaskier’s throat and he falls forwards onto his hands. His weeping turns into screaming, tears still falling. Jaskier slams his fists onto the dirt beneath him and cries out. 

“Geralt! How could you leave me here!” 

He’s panting hard now, his throat sore from screaming and crying. He had opened up in front of the witcher. He had tried to explain to Geralt how deeply he cared about him, how much he loved the other man. Geralt had dismissed it, and not only dismissed it but also turned away from him and blamed Jaskier for all his problems. Jaskier turns to sit in the dirt, his head between his knees as he clings to himself.

“You’re breaking my heart, Geralt of Rivia,” he whispers to himself, tears are falling from his eyes silently now.

He sits like this for a while. Taking shaky, shallow breaths. Geralt’s words replaying in his head over and over again. Jaskier had never cried so much in his entire life. He never knew that he could break down like this. But the pain in his chest is something that he can not describe. It hurts like a million wounds, but the pain is not on the surface like where it would hurt if his flesh had been pierced. The pain is on the inside. He feels abandoned, rejected and utterly alone. Slowly Jaskier’s cheeks start drying up, he feels like he’s shed all the tears he has. 

When his breathing has calmed down and Jaskier lifts his head up from between his knees, the sun has begun to set. Jaskier sighs, he feels exhausted from crying. Nevertheless, he decides to walk a bit further, get to the treeline and set up a camp. He can’t stay in the middle of the path like this.

By the time Jaskier reaches the treeline it is nearly dark. It was growing cold but he had no energy left in his body to collect wood for a fire. Jaskier just unrolls his bedroll and crawls inside, not even bothering to take off his boots. He let out a heavy sigh before closing his eyes. His body feels drained. Drained from all emotion, drained from all energy. 

Quickly he falls into a dreamless sleep.

~~~

Jaskier wakes up when the sun hits his face. He opens his eyes slowly, looking around his little camp. Which, really, is nothing more than his bedroll put on the forest floor. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier calls out for the witcher. 

When the only thing he hears as a reply is the wind howling, reality hits him again. Hard. Like an arrow shot through his already torn and bruised heart. There is no Geralt. Geralt never wants to see him again. 

Before Jaskier realises, a sob escapes his throat. He takes a few shaky breaths to stop himself from bursting into tears again. He really does not have the energy to go through another hour of weeping. 

Jaskier crawls out of his bedroll slowly, still feeling exhausted. He packs up his belongings and decides to carry on walking. He would have to get off this mountain somehow. 

~~~

Normally he would have sung or at least strummed his lute. But now Jaskier can’t bring himself to touch the instrument. Most songs he’s written are about Geralt anyway. It would hurt him too much to sing about the witcher now. He tries to push any thought of Geralt out of his head for now. Which is much harder than he expected. 

Memories of how they met, had many adventures together and of how they parted cloud his thoughts. 

After what feels like hours of walking, pushing Geralt from his minds seems to become easier. It might be the fact that Jaskier’s stomach is constantly rumbling, which distracts him somewhat from the thoughts racing inside his head. He should really try to find something to eat.

~~~

Finally, he finds a bush of wild blackberries. Jaskier licks his lips at the sight of the sour-sweet fruit. Next to the bush of blackberries are other plants Jaskier recognises. Are those…?

“Potatoes,” Jaskier whispers to himself as he pulls some from the ground. Finally, destiny decides to give him a break from its horrible ordeals.

This seems like a good place to set up camp. This time he put some more effort into building a decent camp. He collects firewood and even builts a little shelter out of a fallen branch and some moss. 

~~~

“I don’t need _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier mumbles to himself as he pulls a baked potato from the fire. He stabs his knife into the potato angrily. “I can take care of myself.” 

He’ll get through this. He’ll just get off the mountain and go on with his life. He is more than ‘the witcher’s bard’. He might have followed Geralt around for the largest part of his life, spending his youth chasing after a witcher that turned out not to give a damn about him. But Geralt does not define him, he can be his own person… Right..?

After Jaskier has eaten three more potatoes he feels full. He’s sitting cross legged on his bedroll, staring into the fire. The night is creeping in again and the air is growing cold. Jaskier still feels exhausted but does not think sleep will come if he lies down. His thoughts are racing again. He feels like he’s caught in a downwards spiral, the thoughts and memories coming up in his head turning darker by the minute.

Jaskier looks over at his lute. Sighing, he decides to pick it up. Singing might distract him and keep him from falling into the deep hole his thoughts are pulling him towards. He strums across the strings, playing a few cords. He smiles to himself sadly, feeling tears stinging behind his eyes again. Most songs he knows are about Geralt or way too cheery for his current mood. But there was one classic song he knows that will fit his current state. 

“ _From childhood’s hour I have not been— as others were..._ ” he sings softly. 

_“I have not seen— as others saw_

_I could not bring— my passions from a common spring_

_From the same source I have not taken— my sorrow...”_

Jaskier looks up at the stars as he sings softly, mournfully.

_“I could not awaken— my heart to joy at the same tone..._

_“And all I lov’d—”_ Jaskier swallows thickly. “ _I lov’d alone...”_

Jaskier leaves his hand lingering on the lute strings, his fingers trembling. Tears are prickling behind his eyes again. Since when has he become such a wimp? Since when does he cry so easily? The pain in his chest explains everything. Since he had his heart broken. Since he had opened up to the only person he ever truly loved, not just lusted after. And this person had taken his heart, thrown it on the ground with great disregard and left him behind, utterly alone on top of a cold mountain.

Jaskier puts down his lute again, sighing. He throws some more wood onto the fire before crawling in his bedroll. 

Sleep doesn’t come easy this time. Jaskier’s thoughts keep wandering. Where would Geralt be now? Would he catch up with Jaskier on his own way down the mountain? Maybe the witcher had passed him already last night. 

Something in Jaskier desperately wants to see the witcher, try to get him to talk, hope he apologizes. Hope he realizes that he has made a big mistake. Hope he sees that, now Yennefer is gone, the only thing he’ll need in his life is Jaskier. Some part of the pain in Jaskier’s chest tells him to never face Geralt again. The man broke his heart. A little when he had spent the night in the sorceress’s tent. Later, truly shattered it with his hurtful words on the top of the mountain. Jaskier is not sure if anything could ever mend his heart again. He had spent decades following Geralt around, taking care of him and seeking the man’s approval. All this had been in vain, and now he has ended up alone.

~~~

The next day Jaskier wakes up late. It must already be midday as far as Jaskier can see from the stand of the sun. 

His stomach rumbles. He climbs out of his bedroll, shivering. Even though it’s midday, the air is still as cold as it had been at night. Jaskier wraps his blanket around his shoulders and throws some more wood on the almost dead fire.

He stares into the flames while he eats some blackberries. The fruits are deliciously sweet but the taste doesn’t bring Jaskier any joy. His mind is filled with thoughts about Geralt again and the pain in his chest is back as soon as the first memory of the witcher pops up in his head. His heart aches at the memories, wishing he could just go back to the way it had been. 

Maybe if he camps out here for a day, Geralt would catch up with him. If he hadn’t passed Jaskier already, Geralt must pass him some time. Maybe the witcher will feel sorry and realize he was wrong. Maybe Geralt also misses the memories they have together. Maybe the witcher would want everything to go back to normal too. Jaskier does not really expect an apology from Geralt, the witcher isn’t really good with words like that but the least he could do to show Jaskier he’s sorry would be helping him off the mountain. And even if the other man does not feel sorry, he would not just let Jaskier die in the cold… Right..?

“He better be sorry,” Jaskier mumbles to himself, wrapping his blanket tighter around himself. “He’ll have to catch up with me if I wait.”

And wait he does. 

~~~

Hours he sits at his slowly dying fire in the hope of seeing a familiar head of white hair appear on the mountain path.

“He wouldn’t just pass me,” Jaskier whispers, desperation in his voice. “Would he?” 

A feeling of dread is growing in Jaskier’s stomach. Maybe Geralt had passed him already. Just left him on the mountain. After all, he had said he wanted Jaskier out of his life. Maybe Geralt would let him die alone out in the wilderness. Or maybe Jaskier has gotten lost, maybe he took a wrong turn somewhere. 

He stands up abruptly. 

“No,” he says softly, looking around frantically. “I’m not lost… Right?”

He can feel panic rising in his chest. His heart starts racing, it feels like it’s in his throat.

“No,” he says again, practically running around his little camp in desperation. “No!”

Jaskier slams his hands into a tree in frustration, hissing when the rough bark scrapes at his palms. He places his forehead against the tree, taking a few deep breaths.

He’s not going to lose it again, he’s not going to break down again. He’s not lost, he can make it down alone. He doesn’t need Geralt to get off this mountain. He’ll find a town with an inn, and sing songs and eventually a witcher will walk through the door of that inn and everything will be okay.

After he has collected his senses, Jaskier packs up his camp. He decides to continue walking until dusk. He needs to get off this mountain eventually. He needs to just go back to living his life eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics featured in this chapter are part of the poem “Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe
> 
> Please let me know what you think. This is my first attempt at writing angst ahaha (so much harder than writing smut)
> 
> Hit my up on twitter [@this_gdmn_thing](https://twitter.com/This_gdmn_thing)
> 
> (in case anyone needs it: [suicide crisis lines](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines))


	2. Denial

**Denial**

_I’m the Jesus of wishing to Christ he’ll come back..._

It takes him two more days of walking to get off the mountain. Then at least half a day of walking to get to a village. Jaskier can count himself lucky that he hasn't been attacked by any creatures on his way down the mountain or through the forest surrounding it.

He finally reaches the village, which isn't much more than a few farms. 

His mind completely numb and his body exhausted, Jaskier collapses at the bar of the only inn in the small village. 

“Rough road?” a busty barmaid asks him when she sees the state he’s in. 

Jaskier just nods, he feels empty, not in the mood for a conversation at the moment. He takes a deep breath to collect himself. “In dire need of a good night’s rest.”

“Room for one?”

“Y-yes…” Jaskier says, barely above a whisper. A room for one, only one room for only one person. The aching in his chest had been at the back of his mind while he’d walked, but creeps forward now, causing him to inhale sharply. 

The barmaid puts a key down in front of him and Jaskier checks his coin. He still has quite some left, enough for a meal, some ale and a nice bath. Jaskier decides to indulge himself. He has gotten off the mountain all by himself, without getting injured, killed or dying in any other way. He deserves a reward!

“And a big meal with a big tankard of ale,” he says, his stomach rumbling at the thought of food. “And a bath… With the nicest oils and bath salts you have!”

The barmaid smiles at him. “I’ll take good care of ya, lad.”

~~~

Despite this being a small inn, the barmaid brings him a luxurious meal. Some veal, potato and carrot stew and a big, foaming tankard of ale. Jaskier licks his lips at the sight.

“Thank you,” he says to the barmaid before digging in.

“Yer welcome,” she replies, smiling. “Ya look like ye need it.”

The tone in her voice is soft, almost pitiful, and she gives Jaskier a sad smile before returning to the bar. Jaskier decides to ignore it for now and enjoy the food. He knows he must look like a mess, it has been almost a week since his last bath. His hair, hands and clothes are filthy. His cheeks and eyes are red and raw from crying and the cold mountain air blowing against them.

The food fills Jaskier with warmth. After he’s finished he sits back in his chair, signing in content at the comfortable fullness in his stomach. For the first time in days he feels well, the aching in his chest replaced by the warmth of the food. 

For the first time since he has entered the little inn, Jaskier looks around. There aren’t many people, some old men sitting at the bar and a few merchants having a meal. But the atmosphere is nice, cosy even. The inside of the inn looks somewhat like the inside of a large log cabin. It has a loft, where Jaskier guesses the rooms are, about three as far as he can tell. The barmaid seems to be one of the few employees, but Jaskier guesses they also have someone to prepare the meals. 

Jaskier takes another big swig of ale. It warms his insides even further. The alcohol pleasantly numbs his senses.

“Yer bath is ready, lad,” the busty barmaid says, walking towards him and pointing upstairs. 

Jaskier smiles at her, finishing his ale.

“We don’t really have any oils for yer bath, but I’ve gifted ya some of my own.” The barmaid winks at him. 

“That’s very generous of you,” Jaskier replies, smiling at her and handing her an extra coin. “For your trouble.”

Jaskier walks to his room. It too resembles much of a log cabin. A deer head hangs on the wall and a worn down hide lays on the floor. Jaskier sits down on the bed, testing it. Not too hard and so much better than a bedroll. He eyes the bath. The barmaid has left two tiny bowls on the dresser next to it. 

The oil in one of the bowls smells like roses and the other is filled with pink salt. Jaskier sprinkles them both in the bath before undressing and sliding in. 

He lets out a long sigh, the warmth of the water relaxing his muscles. 

This seems like a fine inn. Jaskier wouldn’t mind staying here for a while. At least until Geralt would pass through this village. He would have to at some point. This small village was close to the dangerous forest at the foot of the mountain, it sure would have a contract or two. 

Jaskier sighs again, heavily, letting his head fall back over the edge of the bath. He stares up at the wooden ceiling. His mind is conjuring up images of Geralt again which make his heart ache with longing.

“He’ll come,” he whispers to himself. “He’ll come back eventually.”

~~~

The next day Jaskier awakes with the sun rising. He’s had a decent night's sleep and does not nearly feel as exhausted as the day before. He puts on clean clothes and walks downstairs feeling fresh.

He looks around the small place. Only the two old men that had been sitting at the bar the previous evening, are there again. No sign of swords, no horse outside… no witcher, no  _ Geralt _ . 

Jaskier bites his lip, feeling the ache in his chest come back. But he’s snapped out of his wistful trance by the cheery voice of the barmaid.

“Breakfast’s ready lad!”

Jaskier sits down at the bar and she hands him a plate with a chunk of freshly baked bread, some cheese, even a piece of sausage as well as a tankard of ale. He breathes in deeply, salivating at the smell of the still warm bread. 

“So…” the barmaid says as she leans over the bar, looking Jaskier in the eye. “What’s yer story?”

“S-sorry..?” Jaskier looks at her, a confused expression on his face.

“Oh, come on. I know a brokenhearted man when I see one,” she says, nodding towards the two old men sitting at the bar. “Widowers.”

“I-,” Jaskier hesitates. Not sure if he should tell her and if,  _ what _ to tell her. He looks down at his tankard, tracing his finger over the rim.

“Did she die?” the barmaid asks softly when he remains silent. She smiles at him, genuine and slightly concerned.

“No… He didn’t.”

“Oh…  _ He _ .” Her expression seems to fall slightly. “What happened, if I may ask ya?”

Jaskier is not in the mood to spill his heart to the barmaid. He’s not ready to go through telling what happened on the mountain just days ago. Instead, he continues to look down, tearing off a small piece of the bread and fiddling with it between his fingers.

“He’ll be back,” Jaskier mumbles and looks up at her. “He’ll have to come back.”

The barmaid gives him a sad smile before walking off to the older men to pour them some more ale. 

Jaskier sits frozen for a while, looking ahead, still playing with the piece of bread. His heart is aching, feeling like a dagger is slowly being pushed between his ribs again. Additionally, there is an empty feeling in his gut and suddenly he has lost his appetite despite the delicious smell of the food. His thoughts are drifting towards memories of the witcher again. 

_ Why is it that whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s YOU, shovelling it! _

He shut his eyes tightly as the memory of Geralt’s bitter words shoots through his mind. 

“Bard!”

Jaskier startles at the sudden call, looking towards the sound, slightly bewildered. 

“Will you play for us tonight?” one of the old men asks.

Jaskier opens his mouth to reply, then closes it again. Maybe if he would just go back to his normal routine he would forget about the whole mountain ordeal. And maybe Geralt would too. Maybe the witcher would walk in, hear him playing his lute and forget all about his anger. And they would just be able to go back to normal. 

“Of course I will,” he replies eventually. Giving the old man a small smile. 

~~~ 

When evening falls, quite some folks have gathered in the small inn. Luckily, none of them seem to recognise Jaskier as the famous bard who travels with the White Wolf. 

Jaskier plays some classic ballads he learned at Oxenfurt, some of his own songs that are not very clearly about Geralt and ends the night with a few rowdy songs. 

The people in the inn seem to be having a great time, ale is flowing and they are singing along. It warms Jaskier’s heart and he feels content, doing what he loves. Singing always lifts his mood.

But when he ends his last song, Jaskier can’t help himself and looks over to the corner of the inn. A dark corner with a clear view of the door, a corner Geralt would normally prefer to sit in. Some drunk old git is in that corner now, slumped over the table, sleeping probably. Jaskier lets out a disappointed sigh.

The aching feeling in his chest is coming back, tugging at his heartstrings. But it quickly lessens when he receives a standing ovation from the crowd. 

“Thank you so much,” Jaskier says to them, bowing. 

When he has packed away his lute and collected his coin, most of the guests have already left the inn again. Jaskier walks over to the bar and before he sits down there is already an ale waiting for him. The busty barmaid is smiling widely at him.

“That was some performance, lad.”

Jaskier blushes slightly at the tone in her voice. She sounds like she had just discovered music for the first time in her life. 

Before Jaskier can reply to her compliment, she’s already helping another customer. 

He stared ahead of himself blankly, sipping from his ale. The villagers have left him quite some coins, enough for another night at the inn. But this village is small, and they probably wouldn’t be so generous with their coin when he performed for a second time. Furthermore, everything seems pretty quiet in this village, no rumours of deaths or monsters. It probably isn’t a village Geralt would stay in…

Therefore, Jaskier needs to get to a larger place. A town that would hold contracts.

“Excuse me,” he says, gesturing to the barmaid. “How far is it to the next city?”

“That would be Barefield,” she says, walking over. “Walking… I’d say, ‘bout two days.”

Jaskier bites his lip at her reply. Two days of walking is not something he looks forward to, but Barefield was a reasonably large city. It’s close to the mountains and woods, so it would surely hold a contract. It is a city that would potentially attract a witcher.

“But…” the barmaid says, pulling Jaskier from his thoughts. “My father is going there tomorrow, for supplies. He has a carriage, he could take ya.”

“He would?” Jaskier asks in disbelief. What did he do to deserve such kindness? Maybe the barmaid takes pity on him, he’d seen the sad smiles she cast at him whenever he’d talked about Geralt. 

“Surely. Ya brought us many customers today. Would be ‘bout a day by carriage.”

~~~

Jaskier did not regret accepting the offer of being taken to Barefield by carriage. They had left in the morning and by dusk, he and the innkeeper arrived at the city gates. Jaskier had hopped off and thanked the man for his great kindness. 

Now Jaskier is strolling around the city, looking for an inn. There are many. Big, small, crowded and some empty. He decides to settle on a medium sized one from which the smell of delicious food is coming.  _ The Curved Drum Inn _ the sign above the door reads.

When he’s barely two steps inside the place, Jaskier hears an enthusiastic squeal. When he looks towards the sound he sees a young woman standing on a small stage, a wide smile on her face and her eyes lighting up with joy. 

“It’s Master Jaskier!” the girl exclaims, her excitement makes the other guests turn around to look at him. “The famous bard that travels with the White Wolf! Have you come to bless us with a performance?”

Jaskier feels flattered at the excited greeting. He has never seen the girl before, nor has he been to this inn and it brings him joy to see he’s known far and wide. Sadly they immediately mention Geralt, like the witcher is somehow part of his identity. Jaskier’s cheeks flush slightly when he realizes that all the guests of The Curved Drum are looking at him, waiting for his reply. 

Jaskier looks at the young woman. She’s standing on a stage, next to a harp. She must have been playing it before he walked in.

“I do not want to steal your stage, ma’m,” Jaskier says, nodding politely at the girl.

“I would gladly give my stage to such an accomplished musician as yourself, Master Jaskier,” the young woman replies as she steps off the stage. 

“Well then…” Jaskier says, beaming with pride as he swings his lute around and steps on the stage. “I will grace you all with my performance this night.”

“Will you sing about the White Wolf?” the young woman asks, her eyes looking up at him, big and pleading.

“O-of course…” Jaskier stumbles over the word. He knows that this was coming, a bigger town means that people know who he is and that people know that he usually travels with Geralt. Still, it takes him slightly by surprise that this is the first thing people ask about. 

Jaskier takes a big, somewhat shaky breath and starts playing.

~~~

The first time he performs his songs about Geralt again, Jaskier is a little shaky. His voice breaks sometimes when he sings ballads about love that are inspired by his love for Geralt, even though he is the only one who knows that. The crowd never seems to notice. If they had, they probably liked the extra emotional tone in Jaskier’s voice because every performance had been met with a big round of applause and a lot of coin. 

People had asked Jaskier about the witcher. Where he was, what had happened to him, when he would come to Barefield for contracts. The questions had become so frequent that Jaskier had incorporated saying that he doesn’t know where the witcher currently is, into his routine, saying this before he started playing.

Days, weeks, months even, he plays at the same inn. The people who visit The Curved Drum seem to visit to hear Jaskier play. It has brought the innkeeper much coin and has allowed Jaskier to stay in a luxurious room and receive big, hearty meals.

As time creeps on, it becomes more difficult for Jaskier to play the love songs inspired by Geralt. He would only play them if someone requested it specifically. When that happened he would sing it directly to a group of maidens, making them swoon and making Jaskier forget that the song is about the witcher.

After three months of staying at Barefield in The Curved Drum Inn, Jaskier still hasn’t considered leaving. He is still convinced that Geralt would pass through the town eventually. There are a few contracts here and if word about Jaskier’s arrival in Barefield would reach the witcher, he would certainly visit. Wouldn’t he? It is starting to get harder for Jaskier to believe himself. But he is not about to give up his last bit of hope. Not tonight. Not on this wonderful night with two admirers by his side and a big crowd blaring along with the lyrics of an uptempo song. 

Jaskier had been asked by two troubadours to perform some songs with them. They had told him that they admire his work greatly and had composed parts for their own instruments. 

The man, on fiddle, is singing backing vocals to all of Jaskier’s ballads. It makes Jaskier’s smooth voice stand out against the man’s own low bass singing voice. The other troubadour is a woman on flute and she makes the cheery uptempo songs seem even more lively.

Jaskier is standing on top of a table now. He has discarded his lute a while ago and is now just singing loudly. Basking in the attention he gets from the crowd. He hasn’t felt this good in months, the two troubadours accompanying his singing making it easier to get through sad ballads and love songs. And Jaskier loves the way he can focus on just his voice and live up the crowd while the two others provide the instrumentals.

“Thank you!” Jaskier screams over the applause when they finish another song. He’s panting and sweating, his hair sticking to his forehead. A big smile is on his face and his heart is racing with excitement. “This will be my last.”

The crowd expresses some mild disappointment but starts singing along nonetheless when the girl with the flute starts the next song. Another cheerful song. Jaskier is dancing on the table and singing with all his energy.

Halfway through the performance the door of the inn swings open and a man in a black cloak walks in. Jaskier abruptly stops singing when he spots the man. His shoulders are broad and Jaskier can see pale hair peeking out from under the cloak's hood, a long sword swings at the man’s hip with every step.

“Geralt…” Jaskier mumbles, standing frozen on top of the table. The other troubadours continue playing but more people turn their heads to look in the direction of Jaskier’s gaze. 

“Good evening,” the man says as he takes off his hood. He has wavy light blond hair and brown eyes. He smiles politely and looks around to all the faces greeting him. 

He’s clearly not Geralt. The man’s dull brown eyes are nothing compared to Geralt’s bright amber ones and his pale blond hair has none of the shine the witcher’s snowy silver hair has. 

Jaskier feels like he has been shot with a hundred arrows at once. He feels like his own mind has betrayed him. He feels like such an idiot for hoping Geralt would come and find him. All he wants to do is crumble, slump down and weep. 

But he doesn’t. 

The man on fiddle is singing the lyrics now, the patrons in the inn singing along. Jaskier can’t just abandon his performance and give in to grief. 

He takes a deep breath and continues singing. His voice is significantly softer and less cheery than before. His hands are shaking and his dancing has grown timid. But he forces himself through his last song. 

When he finishes, he bows. He thanks the crowd and his fellow troubadours and quickly collects his coin. 

“Excuse me, do you have any distilled spirits available?” Jaskier asks the bartender. He knows it will probably cost him a fortune but he needs to get drunk quickly. Quickly, so he can forget about how hope has made him a fool, how his love for the witcher has betrayed his sanity. Quickly, before the aching in his chest would grow so unbearable he would not be able to sleep. 

The bartender eyes him weirdly and puts a bottle of brown liquor on the bar in front of Jaskier. 

“Will this suffice, bard?” he asks. 

Jaskier looks at the bottle, it is still closed, unbroken wax covering the top of the bottleneck. It looks like brandy. 

“I’ll take it,” Jaskier replies, grabbing the whole bottle. “How much?”

“Five,” the bartender says. “Gold.”

Jaskier sighs as he looks into his coin purse. That’s almost all he has earned with his performance. But at the moment he can't care less, he just wants to forget and be able to sleep. 

He hands the bartender the coin and walks up the stairs. 

His feet are heavy. Jaskier is clutching the bottle tightly, holding it to his chest. With his free hand, he basically drags himself up the stairs, almost falling to his knees as he reaches the top. He’s biting his lip, biting back a sob. His vision is already clouded with tears but Jaskier is not willing to let them fall before he is alone in his room.

As soon as he has closed the door to his room, Jaskier leans against it and sinks to the floor. A strangled cry escapes his throat and he throws his head back against the door in agony. Tears are streaming down his face. 

“I-it’s not fair…” he wails. 

His breathing is growing faster and his sobs start catching in his throat. Jaskier is starting to shake. His heart feels like it’s about to burst from his chest. He feels like he can’t breathe. Like he’s drowning in his own tears. He holds on to his own knees tightly and he tries to breathe through his nose. 

His tears are flowing heavily down his cheeks, soaking the lace trimmed edge of his collar. Breathing through his nose helps to relieve the feeling of choking but does nothing to stop his weeping. 

Jaskier picks up the brandy bottle from the floor and opens it, taking a big sip. The liquor is strong and burns in his throat. He coughs at the feeling but takes another gulp nevertheless. 

There is still a deep pain in his chest, causing him great agony. Jaskier wants this feeling to end. Pretending that Geralt would come back had temporarily relieved him of the ache but it has come back ten times as bad now reality has hit him again. 

He takes another sip and lets out another heavy sob. 

_ Geralt isn’t coming back. _

Another sip followed by a distressed cry.

_ Geralt has left him for good.  _

Another sip.

And another.

And another…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up everyone, this emotional journey of angst will truely set off in the next chapter!
> 
> My twitter [@this_gdmn_thing](https://twitter.com/This_gdmn_thing)


	3. Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning!** Violence.
> 
> Had to change the rating because of this chapter.

**Anger**

_How the fuck am I supposed to carry on without you here..._

Jaskier is starting to feel the buzz from the brandy, the bottle half empty now. 

He’s muttering to himself as he paces around his room. He holds the bottle of brandy in one hand, occasionally taking a swig. With the other hand he’s wiping at his cheeks, tears are still falling. 

“After all I’ve done for him…” Jaskier mumbles, his eyes downcast and his lips pressed together angrily. 

Jaskier can’t believe that Geralt would leave him like this, break his heart like this after everything they’d been through together. After the countless times Jaskier had helped the witcher with washing monster guts out of his hair. After stitching up the witcher’s wounds, making sure he would not bleed out or get an infection. After Jaskier helped better Geralt’s image, turning him from ‘the Butcher of Blaviken’ into ‘the White Wolf’.

“How could you abandon me!” Jaskier screams and he punches the wall in agony. 

A shot of pain travels up his arm and he hisses. His knuckles are red from the impact. But the dull pain in his right hand does distract him from the thousand daggers that seem to be ripping up his heart. 

Jaskier takes another sip of brandy, swaying on his legs as he tilts his head back with the bottle to his lips. His head feels fuzzy but the aching in his chest is not going away. With a cry, he punches the wall again. 

It hurts. Which is good. 

Again, he hits the wall, crying out in agony. The tears start streaming faster down his cheeks.

Another punch. More tears.

Jaskier’s knuckles are starting to bleed. The raw material of the wall digging into his flesh. He hits the wall until his whole hand feels bruised and sore. The pain starts flooding away from his chest and concentrates in Jaskier’s right hand. It stings, tingles and throbs all at once.

He stares at his hand for a while, his vision slightly blurry from the alcohol. His knuckles are swollen and bloody from the impact. Jaskier curses at himself, his fingers would certainly hurt like hell tomorrow. He would not be able to play his lute with a hand like this. 

Great. Now he is truly useless. He can’t fight, now he can’t perform. All he does is cause problems and _shovel shit_. 

At least that’s what Geralt thinks of him.

“No!” Jaskier exclaims suddenly, an angry snarl on his face. “It’s not fair!”

He is _not_ to blame for all Geralt’s problems. He had been the one to try and protect him from everything that had caused the witcher trouble. At the betrothal in Cintra, Jaskier had told Geralt to pretend he was a mute and had told him not to talk to anyone. He had just needed Geralt to stay quiet and keep an eye out for him. But the witcher had gotten involved on his own accord. He had evoked the law of surprise himself, Jaskier was not to blame for that. 

Furthermore, he had absolutely nothing to do with the djinn wish. He’d proposed to leave as soon as he had awakened from his healing sleep. But Geralt had to go and ruin things for himself, and frankly for Jaskier as well. Geralt had bound himself to Yennefer with his wish. Jaskier would have never suggested such a thing. He wouldn’t want Geralt to be bound to anyone, except for Jaskier himself maybe. 

Jaskier’s breathing is quickening as those thoughts race around in his mind. His heart rate is increasing and he can feel a new feeling build in his chest. It feels warm, his muscles tightening, his jaw clenching. He feels so angry.

“I hate you Geralt of Rivia!” Jaskier screams as he throws the almost empty brandy bottle against the wall. It shatters on impact, the brown alcoholic liquid forming a splash on the wall. 

Jaskier is panting hard. He feels on edge, his whole body tight. Tears are still falling from his eyes, silently now.

“And I hate that I still love you…” he mumbles. 

He feels horrible. Warm and tingly and tight and _hurting_. He is in so much pain. Both physically and mentally. He just wants to go to sleep.

Jaskier sinks down to the floor on his hands and knees. He’s shaking now. His tears have stopped falling, all of them spent. But he’s still whimpering softly. 

Jaskier looks around the room with an unsteady gaze. He has made a mess. There’s an indent in the wall with a red stain inside. Another brown stain is dripping down in front of him. Broken glass covers the floor. 

Jaskier picks up a piece of glass as he sits down on his knees. He turns the piece over in his hand. The edge of the glass is sharp. 

_What if I would just… end it all…_

The thought passes through his head quickly and it startles Jaskier. 

No! He can’t think like that! This heartbreak will pass. Jaskier will get his life back on track. Geralt’s words do not define him. He’s no burden or _shit shoveler_. He’s more than the witcher’s bard. He is Julian Alfred Pankratz, musician known far and wide! 

With a sigh, he tosses the glass away and crawls towards his bed. 

Jaskier climbs into the double bed he has all to himself and clutches the second pillow. His head is spinning from the liquor and he feels exhausted, completely numb again. He lets out a shaky breath before closing his eyes.

A single silent tear rolls down over his cheek before Jaskier finally drifts off to sleep.

~~~

The next day Jaskier wakes with a screaming headache. He tries to sit upright, pushing himself up on his right hand. With a strangled gasp he lets himself fall back against the pillow. 

With a pained groan, he looks at his hand. It’s swollen and bruised. The skin on his knuckles is torn, the thin scabs that have formed look an angry shade of red. His fingers are blue and it hurts to bend them. 

“Fuck…” Jaskier mumbles to himself. This will take a while to heal. It will take a while before he can play his lute again, which meant it would take a while before he could earn more money. And unfortunately, he has spent almost all he had earned yesterday on a bottle of brandy. 

Speaking of brandy… Jaskier looks around the room. The floor is covered in glass. The spot where the brandy hit and the spot where Jaskier had punched the wall are still clearly visible. He would probably have to pay for a cleanup and the damage as well. 

With a nervous feeling coiling in his stomach, Jaskier dresses, packs up his belongings and makes his way down the stairs. 

He pays for his room, making sure to leave a generous tip to cover for the mess he had made. Before anyone is able to start a conversation with him he slips out of The Curved Drum Inn, into the streets of Barefield. 

Jaskier decides to move further to Hengfors and look for a cheap inn. 

~~~ 

It’s late in the evening when he arrives at the gates of Hengfors. The streets are crowded and Jaskier has to move cautiously so as to not bump into someone. No one seems to recognise him, nor notice him. He doesn’t mind, for once Jaskier enjoys the anonymity. 

Most of the inns he passes seem to be full. Signs reading ‘No vacancies’ visible behind the windows. Jaskier walks on. The neighbourhood seems to grow darker, more drunkards lingering in the street. Among the bars and taverns, Jaskier spots a small inn which seems to have rooms available. 

When he enters the building, the first thing he notices is that there is no bar at this place. Just a small counter and a wall with keys. 

“Good evening,” a young man greets him from behind the counter. 

“Good evening, sir. Do you have a room for one still available?” Jaskier asks the gentleman. 

Luckily the man’s reply is positive, there are still some rooms left. He hands Jaskier the key and explains that they only have rooms at this establishment. For food or drinks, he will need to go elsewhere. Jaskier doesn’t mind, the room is cheap and there are enough bars and taverns in the neighbourhood. 

After he has settled his belongings in his room, Jaskier decides to get something to eat. He hasn’t eaten anything all day but does not feel particularly hungry. He chooses to leave his lute in his room, this way if anyone recognises him, they won’t be able to ask him to play. 

Opposite of the inn is a tavern. It looks a little crappy. The smell of ale coming off the place is not exactly pleasant. A few windows have cracks in them, a drunken man sits against the front of the building, asleep. Outside is a sign that reads ‘Cheapest Ale in Town’. Jaskier decides that it should do, seeing he’s almost out of coin. 

The inside of the tavern is dark. The walls have cracks and none of the furniture fits together. The smell of bad ale is even worse inside, mixing with the smell of sweat and tobacco. Jaskier walks over to the bar. A barmaid walks up to him, she has broad shoulders and a stern face. She looks like someone who has been hardened by the challenges of life. 

“What’s a fancy gentleman like yourself doing in a place like this?” the barmaid asks Jaskier, eying him weirdly. 

Jaskier blushes slightly at her words, unsure what to reply because he doesn’t really know himself either. The barmaid’s stern face softens when she notices his hesitation. 

“Here for the cheap ale I guess,” she says. “What can I get you?”

Jaskier orders some bread, an ale, and some vodka and settles himself at a small table close to the bar. He drinks the vodka down first, his throat burning. Hopefully, it will give him a buzz soon and drown out the throbbing in his hand a bit. The bread has some mould on it but he just eats around it. Jaskier’s stomach rumbles as it finally receives some food. He must be more hungry than he thought. Jaskier tries to wash down the bread with ale but it tastes like shit. Strong, but like shit. No wonder the ale was so cheap. 

When he has finished his meal, Jaskier looks around a bit more. The tavern is filled with men, no women in sight. The men all look rough, scruffy and not very friendly. Some are playing Qwent, laughing loudly as big piles of coins are pushed across the table. Jaskier now understands why the barmaid asked why he was here. His fancy silks stand out from the dirty rags the other men are dressed in.

Is this the kind of place he would end up in without the witcher? 

Jaskier sighs. _More looks like a place Geralt would end up in without me_ , he thinks to himself. As the barmaid had said, Jaskier is a fancy gentleman. Once his hand has healed he could earn money again and live at an establishment more fitted to his standards.

But who is he kidding, what even are his standards? Maybe a bit higher than this place but he had spent the past two decades of his life following the witcher around through mud and dirt and monster guts. For the last two decades, he had slept in the woods as many times as he had slept in a real bed. He had prefered sleeping in a bed over sleeping in nature, he still does. But the last twenty years he had been happy being with Geralt, whether in the woods or at an inn. 

Jaskier is staring absentmindedly into his ale, tracing the rim of his tankard with a finger. He doesn’t realise he is crying until a teardrop falls into his ale. He wipes at his cheeks, quickly drying his tears before any of the thugs in the tavern could notice.

He’d done some much for the witcher. He slept with Geralt in the woods because he knows Geralt prefers it to sleeping in a town. But all the dirt in his bedroll, all the aching in his back from sleeping on the ground, had been for nothing. He’d followed a man around for more than half of his life, who didn’t even appreciate his presence. 

Jaskier clenches his jaw, his uninjured hand gripping tightly around his tankard. He can feel anger rising in his chest along with the aching feeling of heartbreak. 

Jaskier is snapped out of his thoughts by two loud voices. Two men are screaming at each other from across the inn, slamming their fists onto the table and flipping each other off. 

Jaskier looks up from his now lukewarm ale when he hears the men get to their feet. Their screaming is becoming louder. 

The man facing away from Jaskier makes a gesture which seems to aggravate the other, who picks up his tankard and throws it towards his foe. The man facing away from Jaskier ducks and the tankard just misses his head, landing on the table Jaskier is sitting at. Ale splashes out and lands on Jaskier’s doublet, ruining the delicate fabric. 

Jaskier knocks over his own ale and chair as he stumbles back in surprise. 

The man who was facing away from Jaskier is now looking at him, laughing loudly. More thugs join with laughter, pointing at Jaskier and calling him names. 

“Delicate boy got his clothes ruined!”

“Little birdy got wet!”

“What ya gonna do now, wuss!”

The feeling of heartache that had been present in Jaskier’s chest is now completely overtaken by anger. All his muscles have grown tense, his heart is racing in his chest and he’s breathing heavily through his nose. 

With a snarl, Jaskier picks up his tankard with his left hand and throws it at the man who had ducked the previous hit. 

Because he’s not lefthanded and slightly tipsy, he misses. Badly.

He misses the thug by a few feet and the tankard hits a broad shouldered bald man in the neck. With a growl, the man stands up. He’s a very tall, very _angry_ broad shouldered bald man. 

Jaskier swallows hard and realises he has made a huge mistake. 

In two large steps the man is close to Jaskier and grabs him by the front of his soaked doublet. 

“Who do you think you are, you little shit?” the man spits in his face. 

Jaskier feels himself being lifted off the ground and desperately tries to fight free from the thug's strong grip on his clothes. All the anger has left him, replaced by cold fear settling in his stomach. He’s sweating and trembling, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground. 

“L-let me go!” Jaskier squeeks. 

The man laughs in his face, and the other thugs in the tavern join him. Their roaring causes Jaskier to tremble more. They are all looking at him, ready to beat him to death.

“Aren’t you the witcher’s bard?” the thug asks him, a mocking tone in his voice. He raises his fist, ready to strike Jaskier across the face. “Not so tough without that freak beside you, now are you?”

Jaskier swallows the whimper that is about to escape his throat. He tries to kick the man in the stomach. This only aggravates the thug and his fist lands hard against Jaskier’s nose. Jaskier groans, tears stinging in his eyes from the impact. He can feel blood starting to drip from his nose. 

“He won’t come to save you now, you’re on your own,” the thug says, smirking down at Jaskier’s bloody face. “All alone. Helpless, useless little bard.”

The men around him laugh again. 

Then, the laughter is interrupted by a crash. The man who had thrown the first tankard at his foe has smacked him in the head with one now.

“Brawl!” another man screams and the whole crowd comes into motion. They punch and kick at each other, ale flying everywhere. 

The man who’s still holding Jaskier by the doublet throws him to the ground. The thug spits Jaskier in the face before joining the other men in the barfight. 

Jaskier is clutching his nose, squeezing it shut to try to stop it from bleeding. It hurts like hell and his vision is blurry from the ale and the blow to his face.

Jaskier startles when a chair crashes into the ground next to him. Adrenaline is pumping through his body and he has not felt this alive in months. Nevertheless, he needs to get out of this tavern, before all the thugs kill him in their fight. 

Jaskier crawls across the floor towards the entrance, trying to dodge kicking feet and flying objects. He hisses every time he leans on his right palm, a dull pain shooting up his wrist. 

When he has almost reached the door, he is grabbed from behind and pulled up by his doublet. A lean man with long filthy thin hair and only a few teeth looks him in the eye, grinning wickedly. 

“Guess I’m having bard for dinner,” the man says and pulls a dagger from his belt.

Jaskier’s eyes widen and a scream gets caught in his throat. Just as the man is about to stab him in the gut the doors of the tavern fly open. Hengfors’ guards storm inside and break up the fight. One guard punches the man holding Jaskier in his face and helps the bard outside. 

“Are you okay sir?” the guard asks, placing a sturdy hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Did they kidnap you?”

“I-I’m fine,” Jaskier stammers. He wipes some blood off his face and nods at the guard. He almost wasn’t. This fight had almost cost him his life. But adrenaline is still pumping through his veins, the dull pain in his nose is barely noticeable. 

The guard lets Jaskier go and he makes his way back to the inn. He’s still shaking on his feet as he walks, the combination of adrenaline and alcohol making his knees wobbly. 

He slowly opens the door of the inn, trying not to make too much sound. The door creeks and he startles a maid who is sweeping the floor. Another gasp escapes the young woman’s lips when she notices Jaskier’s face. 

“Oh good sir, what happened?” she says, letting go of her broom and hurrying over to Jaskier. “Let me get some water and bandages.”

Before he can protest the woman has already gone to a backroom. Now that he’s coming down from his adrenaline high, Jaskier starts noticing the pain. His whole face hurts, the throbbing pain is not only in his nose but it makes his eyelids throb and twitch as well. The pain in his hand isn’t gone either. Only now he notices that his breeches are torn in several places, as well as his doublet. 

The maid returns just in time. Jaskier is wobbling on his feet, the exhaustion from the fight and the effects of the alcohol catching up with him. The woman supports him and guides him to sit in a chair. 

“What happened?” she asks again as she patches up his wounds. 

“Barfight...”

“Oh dear... Across from here, no doubt. You should stay away from The Black Barrel. Only thugs and thieves over there. No place for a young man like yourself.”

Jaskier nods. He knows better now than to go to that place. He hisses as the woman presses a cold rag to his nose. 

“You, take this with you. And this…” she says as she hands him a small flask of liquor. “Will help with the pain in the morning.”

Jaskier thanks her and stumbles up the stairs to his room, rag still pressed to his nose. With an exhausted sigh, he flops down on the bed. 

For the first time in months, Jaskier falls asleep quickly, so quickly he forgets to take off his clothes. The pain of his wounds, bruises and maybe broken nose, swallow all the aching pain that normally takes over his heart once he settles himself in bed. He might have gotten injured in a bar fight but he does not feel nearly as hurt as he would have other nights. 

~~~

  
  


For quite some time Jaskier looks terrible. He has two black eyes, his nose swollen just like his right hand. The innkeeper takes pity on him and lets him stay for a lower rate for a while, at least until he is able to perform again. 

Jaskier uses the time it takes his wounds to heal to write new songs. He’s sick of singing praising songs about Geralt, the White Wolf. He won’t sing those songs anymore, not after all Geralt has done to him. He writes new songs, angry spiteful songs about heartbreak, betrayal, and loneliness. 

When his face doesn’t look like it has been hit with a boulder, Jaskier goes out to play his songs. He carefully avoids The Black Barrel. For over half a year he plays at a different tavern in Hengfors every night. People recognise him, ask him about Geralt. And every time he declares that he has grown tired of his old songs, he has gifted them to the world to be played by other bards and minstrels across the Continent.

He never stays after his set. Jaskier just collects his coin and leaves. He can’t bear to hear other bards performing his songs about Geralt. Not only do they do a bad job, it only reminds him of the witcher’s absence. It will only cause him more grief and pain.

Slowly Jaskier stops enjoying playing his lute. He plays just enough to get by. To pay for his room and to pay for meagre meals. He’s less cheery when he’s on stage, the small smile he forces onto his lips is nothing compared to his usual beaming laugh. 

It’s becoming harder and harder for Jaskier to fall asleep without alcohol. First, he managed with just a few tankards. Feeling slightly tipsy he would eventually fall asleep. Often after thoughts about Geralt had haunted him for hours. Sometimes he falls asleep after having cried for hours. Cried and screamed and tossed and turned. He’s so frustrated that he can't get over Geralt. He’s so angry that he spent so long pining after the witcher and has wasted his youth on the man.

Now Jaskier can only fall asleep when he’s blind drunk. Thoughts of Geralt started to haunt him more and more. The only way to stop them is drowning the memories in cheap alcohol. On those nights he stumbles into the inn, often startles the maid who is growing increasingly worried about his behaviour. Several times she has helped him up the stairs, making sure he doesn’t fall off backwards. On those nights Jaskier would drift off to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. On those nights he would pass out with his clothes still on. 

Some nights, when the aching in his chest starts before he is alone in his room, Jaskier gets into fights. He makes sure to pick his opponents a little better than he once did in The Black Barrel. He gets kicked, punched, shoved or hurt otherwise. His injuries drown out the pain of heartbreak. Best to break other things in his body to distract himself from his broken heart. 

But despite his best effort to rid his mind of the witcher, the memories stay. They haunt Jaskier in his dreams, making him cry out for Geralt at night. He hates it. Hates that he can’t move on. Hates that he still loves the witcher. Hates Geralt for breaking his heart, showing Jaskier how he truly thinks about him after he has already wasted half his life on the witcher.

~~~

_“But the story is this…_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss…_

_Her sweet kiss…”_

Jaskier is sitting on a stool on a small podium in an inn he hasn’t played at before. He’s finishing up his last song, putting all his hurt into it.

_“But the story is this…_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss…_

_The story is this…_

_She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss…”_

The crowd applauds and Jaskier bows. He packs up his lute quickly after collecting his coin. But before he can make his way out of the inn, a woman approaches him. 

“I’d like to compliment you on your performance, master Jaskier,” she says, a flirtatious smile on her lips.

“Thank you, ma’m,” Jaskier replies, not paying her much attention. But she touches his arm with light fingers, forcing Jaskier to look up. 

“You poor thing,” the woman whispers, leaning in closer to Jaskier’s face. “Who hurt you?”

Jaskier sighs, she’s clearly talking about his songs. He looks at his feet. 

“Childhood love,” he says eventually and takes a deep breath. He can smell the woman’s sweet perfume, it smells like roses and honey. “Left me, rather coldly.”

His reply is not even much of a lie. Geralt might not have been his childhood love, but Jaskier had spent much of his younger years chasing the man. 

“Poor thing,” the woman whispers again and places a hand on Jaskier’s cheek. “Maybe I can help you forget about it.”

She winks at him. Jaskier bites his lip. He’d seen this woman come in with her very possessive husband. Her husband is sitting in a corner of the inn, shooting occasional suspicious glances over at Jaskier and the woman. Therefore it might not be the smartest idea to take her up on her offer. But it has been so long since Jaskier has felt the warmth of another body against his own. This might just be the thing that could soothe his heartache. 

Jaskier hums in agreement and places his hands on the woman’s waist. 

“Meet me behind the inn, in… say five minutes,” the woman says before walking off, swaying her hips seductively. She shoots Jaskier another wink before joining her husband.

Jaskier can see her reassuring her husband, taking the man’s head into her hands and turning his gaze away from the bard. Jaskier walks over to the bar and orders another ale. He hasn’t slept with anyone in months… it might have been almost a year. He hasn’t searched for the comfort of another body since Geralt told him to sod off. Just having someone close might do him good. 

When he finishes his ale, Jaskier slips out of the inn, making sure the woman’s husband doesn’t spot him leaving. He waits at the back of the building. 

Soon, the woman arrives, a seductive smile on her face. She immediately presses her body against Jaskier’s. 

“So… Let’s make you forget that heartbreak,” she whispers before pressing her lips against his. 

The kiss is sloppy, too much teeth and too much tongue. Jaskier sighs against the woman’s lips. He brings his hand up and caresses his fingers through her blond hair, gesturing for her to move slower.

She complies, deepening the kiss. Jaskier melts slightly into the kiss, feeling a heat pool in his stomach. He sneaks his hands around her waist and pulls her close. It feels good to have the warmth of another person against his body. It soothes the aching loneliness that has settled in his bones over the past months. 

The woman seems to be desperate. Her hands move quickly, rubbing Jaskier through his breeches. She only gets him half hard before she drops to her knees. 

Jaskier had noticed that his libido has decreased over the past few months. Right now, he does not really feel horny. He would much rather just hold the woman, bask in her warmth, feel some comfort in not being alone. 

But she is persistent and swiftly opens his breeches. 

Jaskier lets out a gasp when she takes him between her lips. The stimulation is overwhelming and his knees buckle. He leans heavily against the wall of the inn. 

Before she can get him fully hard, the back door of the inn swings open. The woman’s husband stands in the doorway, looking furious. He is holding a dagger in his hand. 

“You filthy scum!” the man screams. 

The woman leaps up, quickly taking a few steps back. Her husband charges at Jaskier and presses the dagger to his throat. Jaskier swallows against the knife, a gasp catches in his throat. 

“You bards are all the same,” the man hisses. “Seducing married women. You should learn your place, singer!”

Jaskier just whimpers in reply. His legs are trembling and his heart is racing at the feeling of the cold steel pressing to his throat. This is it. The man might just cut his throat for this. 

“If life could give me one blessing it would be to rid your kind out of existence,” the man growls, pressing the dagger harder against Jaskier’s throat. 

Jaskier lets out a pained sob. The man’s words remind him of the words Geralt had spit at him before he left him on the mountain over half a year ago. Is it true? Is he a burden to everyone? He seems to cause problems everywhere he goes. Again, the problems he has caused now are not exactly his doing, but he is involved. Maybe his presence just brings bad luck.

“No! Darling please!” the woman screams, grabbing her husband’s arm. “Don’t kill him, he's just a bard!”

The man’s expression softens, and slowly he pulls the dagger away from Jaskier’s throat. 

“You’re right,” the man says. “He’s not worth it.”

The man scoffs and pushes his wife towards the back door of the inn. 

“May you die in a gutter,” he growls before spitting at Jaskier’s feet. 

Jaskier is left trembling against the wall. He’s breathing hard and when he closes his eyes a single tear runs down his cheek. He quickly closes his breeches with shaking fingers. Afterwards, he sits down against the wall. 

Jaskier rubs a hand over his throat, no sign of blood or broken skin. He almost got himself killed. But how he has just escaped getting murdered is the last thing on his mind right now. Sorrow is creeping in again. 

His body feels numb and his heart heavy. Maybe they are all right. The husband, Geralt, even his own mother had told him before how useless, unworthy and how much of a burden he is. She’d kicked him out of the house, left him behind alone, just like Geralt had on the mountain. Maybe he does deserve to die in a gutter. 

What does he add to the world anyway? Like the woman said he’s just a bard. He doesn’t even sing the songs people like the most anymore. He just sings for coin. Burdening others with his heartbreak just to make a living. He attracts problems and bad luck. He had disappointed his own mother. And he had caused the love of his life problems and pain. 

Because of him Geralt went to Cintra. If Jaskier hadn’t dragged him along for his personal security there would not have been a child surprise. If Jaskier hadn’t started shouting out his wishes as soon as the djinn was freed, they would have never encountered Yennefer. Geralt would not have had to save her with a wish and she would have never yelled at him on the mountain. 

The witcher had so many scars on his body that wouldn’t have been there if Jaskier hadn’t distracted Geralt during a fight. If he wouldn’t have gotten himself into trouble and broken the witcher’s concentration. He always helped patch Geralt up afterwards but it wouldn’t have been necessary if he would have left Geralt alone. Geralt would have far fewer scars if he had never met Jaskier. 

The thoughts make Jaskier’s head spin. His cheeks are soaked with tears, as is the collar of his doublet. He is biting his lip and taking shaky breaths. Jaskier does not want to be heard or seen crying in public. Even with his best efforts, a whimper escapes his lips. 

Jaskier slowly gets up. He clenches his yaw and presses his lips tightly together, trying to stop more whimpers from slipping out. He wipes at his cheeks, but the tears won’t stop falling. With heavy feet he walks back to the small inn he’s still staying at. His lip is trembling with the effort it takes to contain his whines. 

He pushes the door open slowly. Luckily no one is at the counter. Jaskier rushes in and starts making his way up the stairs. He just wants to go to sleep. Go to sleep and preferably don’t wake up again. 

At the top of the stairs, he bumps into the maid. 

“Oh dear…” the maid whispers when she sees Jaskier’s face, sounding shocked. 

A heavy sob escapes Jaskier’s throat and he quickly averts his gaze from the maid’s worried eyes. He hurriedly pushes past her and slips into his room, slamming the door shut. 

He flops down onto his bed and sobs into the pillow. His whole chest feels constricted, his breathing feels restricted and his stomach is in knots. It feels like a dead horse is lying across his chest, crushing him. But obviously there is no horse, just crushing sadness. The anger and hatred that had settled in his heart have burned away and the dark feeling of hopelessness is settling in. 

Jaskier just wants everything to stop. Stop hurting. He wants to stop remembering and stop _crying_. He used to never cry and now he can’t seem to stop. He would have never guessed that he could cry this much. But he has never experienced the realisation that half his life has been thrown away, before. That half his life has been worthless.

He has followed Geralt around, longing for only the slightest sign of kindness from the man for more than two decades. Only to be pushed away and left behind. He’d spend half of his life composing songs about the witcher. All the material he has ever written is inspired by Geralt. And now he can’t stand to perform those songs anymore. Sure, his songs are still popular, performed by others across the Continent. But what are his songs if they will never be performed by their creator again? 

Eventually, Jaskier stops crying, lost in his own head. The thoughts are bouncing around in his skull. They are starting to sound less like his own thoughts and more and more like words being spit at him. It feels like his heart has been ripped out and replaced with nothing, just a numb black void. 

Exhausted, Jaskier falls into an empty dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT CRYING YOU ARE!
> 
> Wanna cry together? Hit my up on twitter [@this_gdmn_thing](https://twitter.com/This_gdmn_thing)
> 
> [Stay safe everyone!](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)


	4. Depression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post the next chapter. I hope it's worth the wait!
> 
>  **Trigger warning for this chapter!** Suicidal ideation/behaviour and violence.

**Depression**

_I've run out of my words and song. Just let me die, me die..._

Jaskier’s days start to grow darker. He feels numb, exhausted. He feels like there is a constant weight on his shoulders. It slows him down, drains his energy and keeps him from doing much at all. Jaskier has stopped performing, no longer finding any joy in being on a stage. He lives of the coin he has saved up, spending it on a room, little amounts of food and cheap alcohol. He doesn’t eat much and has lost quite some weight. His lean but muscular physique from being on the road has turned thin, skinny even. His clothes don’t fit right anymore.

In the evenings, Jaskier drinks too much in order to be able to sleep. Even when passed out because of the alcohol, he wakes multiple times a night. Sweating and screaming because of nightmares, waking up because memories of Geralt haunt his dreams. Or he wakes up frustrated, the weight of sadness becoming too heavy. Those nights he wants to cry, relieve the pressure in his chest. But Jaskier can’t cry anymore. The void in his heart has swallowed all his tears. They won’t flow anymore and the pressure of worthlessness and guilt just keeps building. 

The only thing that calms him down is strumming his lute. The chords vibrate in his little inn room, bouncing off the walls. 

Jaskier strums his lute again, the chords slowly start to form a melody. At this moment, it is early in the morning and he’s lying in his bed. He hasn’t slept all night and he hasn’t left his bed in a couple of days. Empty wine bottles are scattered across the floor. Jaskier sighs to himself and softly starts singing. 

_ “I’m so tired of being here… _

_ Suppressed by all my childish fears…” _

He’s staring ahead of himself blankly. He softly sings, his voice breaking every few words. Somehow the sadness and loneliness in his chest seem to be growing and lessening at the same time. 

_ “And if you have to leave… _

_ I wish that you would just leave… _

_ ‘Cause your presence still lingers here… _

_ And it won’t leave me alone…” _

It feels like he can express his trapped emotions through his singing. Yet, it seems like the sorrow is also settling in deeper as he sings.

_ “You used to captivate me by your resonating light…  _

_ Now I’m bound by the life you left behind… _

_ Your face, it haunts my once pleasant dreams…  _

_ Your voice, it chased away all the sanity in me…” _

Jaskier shuts his eyes. Tears are prickling behind his eyes but they won’t fall. 

_ “These wounds won't seem to heal…  _

_ This pain is just too real…  _

_ There's just too much that time cannot erase…” _

His soft whispering of words has turned into full singing now. Jaskier’s voice breaks on nearly every word as he tries to put all his emotions in the lyrics. He’s almost singing at full volume now, trying to relieve the crushing weight of sadness that is still on top of him. 

_ “When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears…  _

_ When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears…  _

_ And I held your hand through all of these years…  _

_ But you still have all of me…” _

Jaskier lingers on the last note until his voice breaks. He strums his lute again and swallows.

Then the door creaks open. 

“Sir?” a shy voice calls. Slowly the maid steps into his room, looking at the ground. 

Jaskier abruptly stops singing and puts his lute away. With a groan he gets up out of the bed. 

“T-there has been a complaint,” the maids says. She’s still not looking Jaskier in the eye. She looks at her feet, clearly avoiding looking around the mess that is Jaskier’s room. “S-several actually.”

Jaskier sighs in reply. This does not come as a surprise. He has locked himself in his room for several days, been up all night strumming his lute, drinking wine and kicking empty bottles around. The poor maid has seen his whole downfall. He must have burdened her a great deal with his actions. Stumbling in late, drunk out of his mind. Keeping the room he has booked occupied for months. Littering the room in empty bottles. 

“I-I sadly, must ask you to leave,” the maid says, finally looking Jaskier in the eye. “I must ask you to seek vacancies elsewhere.”

“That’s alright,” Jaskier replies, sighing again. “I will no longer burden you with my sorrow. You’ve been too kind to me already.”

The maid gives him a nod and a sympathetic smile before heading out the door again. 

Jaskier slowly starts packing his belongings. He packs his bags messily. He cannot seem to focus or stay organised, it feels like only half of his mind is present. 

When he finally manages to stuff all his things into his bag, he makes his way into the streets. 

Jaskier decides to head towards the market to stock up on cheap wine and vodka before trying to find another inn. It is early in the morning, but the market is buzzing with townsfolk already. 

Jaskier does not pay attention to the buzzing on the market square, all sounds seem to pass around him in a blur. His mind is numb and the sounds from the street echo inside his head. He’s not paying much attention to anything. He bumps into a few people and takes no notice of their angry glares and comments. His feet are dragging as he walks, sometimes he stumbles, not paying attention to loose stones in the road. 

Jaskier doesn’t even bother to look before he crosses the street. He doesn’t notice the sound of hooves and wooden wheels quickly approaching. Or maybe he does but he doesn’t care. In the corner of his eye he can see two black horses moving towards him. Jaskier makes no move to leap away, bracing himself for the impact.

But there is no impact. Just before he is run over by the horses, Jaskier is pulled out of the way by the back of his doublet. The horses neigh and the cart rattles past. 

Jaskier stands frozen on the side of the street, his heart in his throat.

“You gotta look out better before you cross the street, lad.”

A large man with a friendly face turns him around, still holding Jaskier by the back of his doublet. The man lets go and places a heavy hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

Jaskier nods. His brain has barely processed the man’s words. It is still trying to process what just happened. Or what just  _ almost had _ happened. When the shock of the event has left him, relief does not wash over him. He feels somewhat angry, hopeless even. Maybe he secretly wants to be run over, wants his misery to end. But it seems like destiny has other plans for him. It seems like fate wants to torment him for a bit longer.

“Get out of your head lad,” the man who has saved him says, looking Jaskier in the eye. “Watch out better next time, you almost got yourself killed.”

Jaskier nods again, muttering his thanks. He doesn’t deserve the man’s sympathy and kindness. The only one who would have deserved kindness would have been the poor bastard that would have had to sweep Jaskier’s remains off the street if the man had just let him get run over. It’s not like anyone would have cared if he had died right there. There was no one who would miss him. 

Jaskier slowly makes his way towards the stalls of the market. He buys enough bottles of wine to get himself to sleep and looks for another inn to stay at. 

~~~

Jaskier stumbles into his newly rented room drunk. It’s late at night, most people had already left the bar and returned home or retired to their rooms. But not Jaskier, he had sat frozen on his barstool before he was finally asked to leave. 

Jaskier lets himself fall face first into the mattress. It’s hard and uncomfortable but he can’t care less. Not like he would be able to get any sleep even if the mattress was more comfortable. He groans as he turns around. His head is swimming from the booze. Jaskier presses his hands over his face in an attempt to stop his vision from spinning. For a moment he feels like he’s going to throw up, but he manages to swallow the lump in his throat.

When his head has accommodated to the position on his back, Jaskier begins to sober up a bit. The silence inside his little room feels deafening and the dark feeling of hopelessness starts to settle in his mind again. 

_ The cart should have hit you… _

The voice in his mind doesn’t sound like his own. It no longer startles Jaskier and he quietly agrees with it.

_ Would have finally ended your miserable, worthless life… _

Jaskier groans. This will be another night of insomnia with only the voice in his head to keep him company. 

Jaskier searches through his bag for a bottle of particularly strong liquor. He takes a large sip when he finds the bottle of moonshine. Jaskier starts coughing violently as the liquor burns his throat. 

“Fuck…” he mumbles. “That’s the good stuff.” His whole throat and tongue burn, and he can feel the alcohol prickling in his nose. Better to feel the sting and burn of booze than to not feel anything at all. 

_ No one will miss you when you finally die, no one cares about you… _

Jaskier takes another big swig of moonshine to try and drown the voice. A few more sips of the liquor and he would probably pass out. 

Jaskier can feel his eyes starting to slip close already. A comfortable numb feeling is taking over the crushing weight of sadness. And the way his head starts to swim again silences the voice in his mind.

Before he can open the bottle to take another sip, Jaskier slips into unconsciousness.

  
  


~~~

  
  


The following few days pass in a blur. 

The morning after the first time Jaskier drowned himself in moonshine, he wakes up reeking of his own vomit. He does not have the energy to clean it up properly. He just wipes the uncomfortable mattress and himself with a cloth before settling back into his bed. 

The next few days consist of strumming his lute, eating one strip of dried meat a day and drowning himself in a few large sips of moonshine at night.

After the fourth consecutive day Jaskier spends in his bed, there is a knock on the door. Jaskier answers with a groan. 

“Housekeeping!” a voice calls from behind the door. “Sir, we need you to leave your room so we can clean it!”

Jaskier groans again. The maid does not enter his room, she’s probably waiting for him to leave first. Jaskier searches for a clean shirt and swings his lute onto his back before walking to the mirror. The sight that greets him startles Jaskier. He has large dark circles underneath his eyes, his face is slightly fallen in with the amount of weight he has lost over the past months. He looks awful. 

With his head down, avoiding eye contact, he slips out of his room. He nods at the maid before she walks in. Jaskier manages to slip out of the inn without being noticed and he wanders into the street. 

It’s noon and most bars are still pretty much empty. Jaskier chooses one that fits his current mood and state of being. A small tavern, with a dark gloomy interior and a few sad looking old men sitting at the front. 

The old men greet him with a sad smile and one raises his pipe to Jaskier. Jaskier tries to smile back but his expression has grown mostly blank as of late. Once inside he orders a bottle of wine before settling himself in the darkest corner of the establishment. 

There is no one inside the tavern yet, just him and a barmaid who is still busy cleaning. Jaskier takes a large sip from the wine, welcoming the familiar taste of alcohol. He feels numb and blank, the sour taste of the wine the only sensation in his body. 

Jaskier sighs heavily. How long does he have to go on like this? When will the weight of the world stop crushing him? He feels utterly hopeless. Jaskier had thought that after he had forgotten the witcher he would be able to move on with his life. But after being confronted again and again with how worthless he was to others, the pain in his chest is still unbearable even after memories of his love for Geralt started fading.

Jaskier lets his head fall into his hands and lets out a dry sob. He slumps down on himself, his head resting between his arms on the table. He feels so tired. He hasn’t slept properly in days. He has only passed out from the alcohol and woke up feeling worse than he did the day before. 

Jaskier feels his eyes starting to slip close. He doesn’t care if it is from the booze, not eating enough or from sheer exhaustion. The calm black nothingness of sleep is something that he welcomes. And secretly he doesn’t mind if, this time, it swallows him forever. 

Sadly, a few hours later, Jaskier startles awake from a fist being slammed onto the table he’s sitting at. He abruptly sits upright and knocks his wine over in the process. 

“You’re at our table, minstrel.”

Jaskier looks up at the rough voice. A broad man covered in ugly tattoos hovers over him. Behind him stand three more men, all covered in equally distasteful tattoos. They look unkempt and mean, not folk you would want to mess with. 

Jaskier squints his eyes at the man. He takes up his fallen cup of wine and drinks the last drops that were still in it. He slams it back onto the table, locking eyes with the thug again as he pours himself another cup. Jaskier is not about to give up his table to some thug that thinks it’s his property.

“Oh… a tough one, are you?” The man leans closer towards Jaskier’s face. “I’m gonna say this one more time. You are sitting at _ our table _ .”

“This table doesn’t belong to anyone,” Jaskier mumbles back, his lips pressed into a tight line. 

“You hear that, Clint? The table doesn’t belong to anyone,” another thug says, laughing. 

“Maybe he’s right…” the man, Clint apparently, says. 

Then he abruptly grabs Jaskier by the front of his doublet, pulling him halfway over the table and knocking over his wine again. 

“Maybe he’s not.”

Now the man is squinting his eyes at Jaskier. Jaskier manages to keep his expression neutral, showing no sign of fear. He isn’t really afraid, whatever they do to him it can’t hurt any more than the black void that has swallowed his heart and left a gaping hole.

“Show him Clint!” another thug exclaims. “Show him who this table belongs to!”

Clint hurls Jaskier over the table, lifting him completely off the floor and making the bard yelp. The thug turns around, taking Jaskier with him, and he throws the bard harshly into the chest of another thug. This man grabs Jaskier’s arms and pins them to his back. 

Jaskier is panting now, wide eyed and trembling on his feet. Clint takes a few steps forward, grinning menacingly. With a swift blow of his fist, the thug punches Jaskier in the stomach. Jaskier doubles over, wheezing. The man who is holding his arms drags him upright again and before Jaskier can protest he receives another blow in his gut. 

Jaskier groans in pain and starts coughing. Small red droplets fly from his mouth. The man behind him lets him go and Jaskier sinks to the floor. He wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Blood.

Before Jaskier can get up Clint is dragging him forward by the hair, bending him over the table and slamming his head against the wood. 

“Who does this table belong to?” the thug asks Jaskier. 

Jaskier stays silent. 

Clint slams his head against the table again brutally. Jaskier’s vision spins with the force of the impact, he groans. 

“I asked you a question,” Clint barks into his ear, holding Jaskier’s cheek pressed against the table. 

Jaskier growls in reply, trying to scramble away from the man’s hold. He’s looking around the tavern helplessly. Why is no one intervening? 

With an angry snarly Clint tugs Jaskier away from the table and tosses him towards the other thugs. Jaskier falls to the floor, scraping his palms and knees on the rough stones.

“Get him out of my sight,” Clint says. The other thugs nod and they grab Jaskier by the ankles and wrists. 

Jaskier starts resisting, trying to wiggle his way out of their strong grip. He’s yelling now. Incoherent pleas for help and angry insults spill from his lips. But no one in the tavern lifts a finger. They all avert their gaze as Jaskier is carried out of the building. 

“Don’t show your face here again,” the thugs spit before swinging him by the arms and legs and tossing him into the air. 

Jaskier collides harshly with the cobblestones of the street. He lands on his back and the impact knocks the wind from his lungs. He starts coughing again, more blood splatters onto the street as he rolls over onto his stomach. His coughing combined with the impact of the street is making it impossible to breathe. He’s wheezing, clutching the front of his doublet as his lungs start to burn. 

Slowly, Jaskier manages to catch his breath. He rolls onto his back again, groaning when he feels every part of his body hurt. 

It’s growing dark already. And just when Jaskier thinks things can’t get any worse it starts to rain. Thick droplets splash onto his skin. He shivers as the night grows cold suddenly. 

Jaskier tries to move again, but his body protests. He slumps back down, just giving up. 

Jaskier is staring blankly up at the grey sky, occasionally drops of rain fall into his eyes. His head is spinning and thoughts are bouncing around in his mind again. Why had no one helped him in the tavern? Why had no one told the men to stop beating him up, to pick on someone of their own size? Is he really that worthless? Does he not deserve to be saved from unfair treatment? 

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, a little whimper escapes his throat. Maybe he got what he deserved, being a bother to the regulars of a tavern. 

The night was growing colder and Jaskier has started shivering. His hands and feet have grown numb and he could feel his consciousness starting to slip. Maybe this is finally it. He would finally die in a gutter as he deserved. No one had saved him, no one would miss him. 

Slowly, everything grows dark.

~~~

A bright light. The smell of honey… Salves… Lilac and… Gooseberries? 

Jaskier opens his eyes slowly, blinking because of the bright light. When his eyes adjust he notices that he’s laying in a bed. A woman with wavy black hair is sitting at the footboard, her back turned towards him.

“Oh Go-” Jaskier is suddenly wide awake and he sits upright abruptly. He quickly tries to stumble out of the bed and away from the woman. What was  _ she _ doing here? Could faith be any more cruel towards him?

The woman quickly turns around when she hears him gasp. 

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” she says, her voice sweet. Her face is soft and her eyes a deep brown. She’s not who Jaskier expected, she’s not Yennefer. 

“W-who are you?” Jaskier asks, still wary. 

“I’m sorry,” the woman says, handing Jaskier a cup of water. “I didn’t mean to startle you. My name is Sofia.”

Jaskier looks down at the cup, then reluctantly takes it from her. 

“I-I found you on the streets,” Sofia speaks, her voice soft and her gaze downcast. “You were unconscious and soaking wet from the rain. I couldn’t bear to leave you there, you would have frozen to death.”

Jaskier nods slowly, memories of the previous night coming back to him. He relaxes a bit, leaning back against the pillow. As he relaxes his muscles he notices how much they ache and hurt. 

“What time is it? How long was I out?”

“It’s early in the afternoon. I found you on my way home, carried you here. You threw up some blood on the way. I tended to your wounds and you slept the whole day.”

Jaskier takes a sip from the water, and only then he notices how dry and raw his throat is.

“You really didn’t need to go through all that trouble,” Jaskier mumbles, not daring to look her in the eye. This poor woman dragged him off the streets and to her home. Having to go through such trouble and the burden of seeing Jaskier throw up. He does not deserve such kindness.

“Couldn’t just leave you there…” Sofia answers, smiling at him warmly. “Get some more rest, I’ll get you something to eat.”

Before Jaskier can protest she has already left the room. Jaskier pulls the covers away from his legs. He’s only in his shirt and smallclothes. Parts of his legs are wrapped with bandages, blood staining the white cloth. Dark purple bruises are forming around his ankles and when Jaskier looks at his wrist he sees the same purple marks where the thugs had gripped him. His head is still pounding and there is an ache in his chest. This time it’s not from heartbreak or hopelessness but from the hard collision with the streets. He might have broken a few rips because of the impact.

Sofia returns with some bread and another cup of water. She hands him the plate. 

“You could get help for your condition, you know…” she says, smiling gently at Jaskier.

“M-my condition?” Jaskier is unsure of what she means. But the look on her face tells him she doesn’t mean his bruises and wounds from being thrown out onto the street.

“Your melancholy,” Sofia answers.

Jaskier blinks a few times, staring at her with a vacant expression. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“You look just like my brother before he drowned himself in ale,” Sofia continues, looking down at her hands with a sad smile. “Found him in the gutter much like I found you. But for him it had been too late, he was already cold.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier mumbles. He looks away from the woman’s sad gaze. He can’t bear to look at her because he feels like he’s burdening her with his presence, making her relive old grief.

“You could get a potion,” Sofia says, placing a hand on Jaskiers arm and forcing him to look up at her. “It makes the darkest days seem just a little brighter, makes it just a bit easier to start the day. It’s not a cure for melancholy but it makes sure you can continue, until you’ve found another source of happiness. It helped me a great deal after I lost my only child during birth.”

“T-thank you,” Jaskier whispers. 

He’s not sure that a potion will actually help him, but he will keep it in the back of his mind. Finding another source of happiness is easier said than done when something that has been your source of happiness for the largest part of your life has left you broken. When you are sure that you are a burden to everyone on the Continent and constantly being reminded of how worthless you are. 

“I-... I truly don’t deserve your kindness,” he says, placing his hand over Sofia’s, which is still on his arm.

“Everyone deserves kindness,” Sofia replies, a worried look on her face. “You need to be a little kinder to yourself, dear.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


“No need to thank me again, Jaskier.”

It has grown dark when Jaskier says his goodbyes to Sofia. She had let him recover in her home for the rest of the day, now he will return to his room for the night. The woman had tended to his wounds, brought him food and kept him company. She had even washed and dried his bloody, rain soaked clothes. Jaskier doesn’t know how to thank her, how he could ever repay her. But Sofia seems to want nothing in return. 

“Take care of yourself!” she says as she waves at him from in the doorway. 

“You too!” Jaskier calls back, waving at her as he walks back to the inn he’s staying at. 

For the first time in months there is a small, genuine smile on Jaskier’s lips as he walks. His encounter with Sofia has made him feel comfortable and cared for, something he has truly missed. But at the same time guilt is tugging at his heart. He feels the need to do something for her in return. Jaskier can’t think of a reason why someone would help someone like him purely out of kindness. 

When Jaskier is almost at the inn again he stops abruptly. He suddenly realises he has forgotten something…  _ His lute! _ He is sure he hasn’t left it at Sofia’s home. It must still be at the tavern he’d been kicked out of.

“Shit…” Jaskier whispers, anxiety rising in his chest. The instrument is one of the few things he still cares about, the only thing left that brings him some joy.

Jaskier looks around frantically, searching for the direction towards the tavern. Jaskier spots a familiar building nearby and walks towards the tavern. 

The small tavern looks as gloomy as it did yesterday, the same old men sitting in front of the building. Jaskier can hear loud talking and laughing from inside. Anxiously he pushes open the front door and sneaks inside. 

The same men that threw him out yesterday are sitting at  _ their _ table. Jaskier tries to hide among the other people in the tavern and carefully makes his way to the bar. 

When the barmaid spots him her eyes grow wide. She leans in close when Jaskier gestures at her. 

“Good sir, I’m sorry about yesterday but those thugs control the tavern,” she whispers. “It’s better you leave.”

A shiver runs down Jaskier’s spine and fear starts rising in his stomach at the thought of being beaten up again. 

“I-I forgot my lute yesterday. Have you seen it?” he asks, stumbling over the words. His voice comes out in a high squeak because he’s already panting, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I have seen no such instrument. Now leave, please.”

Jaskier feels his stomach drop. He swears he has left his lute at this tavern. It might still be in the corner behind the table he sat at yesterday... Shit.

Jaskier bites his lip and slowly turns away from the bar. He crouches down a little and peers around the tavern. It’s very dark inside but he manages to catch a glimpse of his beloved instrument. It’s behind the table the four tattoo covered thugs are sitting at. They are laughing loudly, slapping each other on the back and spilling ale everywhere.

Jaskier decides to approach the table. It is a ridiculously stupid idea which might cost him his life, but Jaskier can’t imagine his life without his lute. It’s the only thing he still cares about. He walks towards the table slowly, looking at the floor. 

“You again?” the biggest thug, Clint, says before Jaskier can speak. “Did I not tell you to fuck off and never come back?”

“I-I…” Jaskier looks up at the men, his face is flushed and his hands are trembling. “I forgot m-my lute…”

The thugs laugh at him. 

“This ugly thing?” one of the men asks as he grabs Jaskier’s lute and slams it down onto the table. 

Jaskier winces as if in pain at the sight of the delicate instrument colliding roughly with the table. The men laugh again and Jaskier feels heat rise in his stomach. He doesn’t know if it’s fear, anger or disgust, all he knows is that he wants to scream at the men.

“Give it back,” Jaskier mumbles, his gaze downcast. 

“What was that?” Clint asks in a mocking tone. “You want it back?”

Jaskier looks up at the man then, trying his best not to look scared. A malicious grin forms on Clint’s face and he grabs the instrument with both hands, one hand on the neck and one on the body. The mean thug rises from his seat and steps closer to Jaskier, making him stumble backwards. The other thugs are still laughing and slamming their fists onto the table to encourage Clint. 

Jaskier swallows audibly, taking a few more steps away from the thugs imposing form hovering over him. Clint barks out a laugh before bringing the lute down harshly over his knee. The instrument snaps in half, the strings snap and curl upwards towards the pegbox. 

Jaskier gasps, covering his mouth in horror. 

Clint throws the broken instrument to the floor and stomps on it. The body shatters under his heavy boot. 

“No…” Jaskier whimpers, looking at this destroyed lute. 

The laughing of the thugs is overwhelming. Jaskier stands frozen in place, his whole body shaking. Then, Clint grabs him by the front of his doublet. 

“Leave!” the man snarls into Jaskier’s face. 

Jaskier looks the man in the eyes and anger washes over him. “No!”

Clint’s face turns angry as well and he drags Jaskier out of the tavern. He tosses the bard's body to the street as if he weighs nothing. 

Jaskier groans with the impact, his muscles, wounds and bruises still sore. But he manages to crawl to his feet rather quickly. 

The other thugs have come outside the tavern as well, standing behind their leader. All of them look mean and angry, slamming their fists into the palms of their hand. 

“Get him boys,” Clint orders. 

Jaskier’s first instinct is to run, and he leaps away from the threat. He starts sprinting. He rushes through the street, pushing people aside. His bruised legs hurt and his head is spinning.

He can hear the men closing in on him but he can’t bring himself to run faster. This might finally be it, this might finally be the thing that ends the misery that his life has become. He has lost his love, his sanity and now also his lute. There is nothing left for him to run to. 

Jaskier’s panting, his lungs and legs are starting to burn. But he does not have the strength to try to outrun the men. He’s exhausted, not just from running. 

Jaskier tries to turn a corner but he slips and falls to one knee. A feeling of relief washes over him and he does not feel the will to stand up. He can hear that the men are catching up with him, he can hear them unsheath their swords… 

Jaskier closes his eyes and lets out a final breath of relief. He doesn’t have to pretend anymore, will not have to cry anymore, there will be no more pain, no more heartbreak. He’s ready for a sword to hit his neck and end his suffering.

But a sword doesn’t hit his neck. The only thing Jaskier can hear is the sound of metal hitting metal. 

His eyes open in shock. “No…” he breathes to himself. Someone has saved him, there would truly be no end to his suffering. He doesn’t deserve to be saved. He’d been saved too many times already, proven how much of a burden he is to everyone. For once, he wants destiny to do him a favour and just let him die...

A silent tear falls from Jaskier’s eye onto his shaking hand. “No,” he says again. The pain of hopelessness knocks the wind out of him and he falls forward onto his hands. Will this pain never end?

There are screams and groans behind him. The sound of more colliding steel and metal slicing through flesh. 

Jaskier turns around to look at the bastard who has saved his miserable life. His breath catches in his throat and another silent tear runs down his cheek when he sees a familiar head of white hair wielding a sword.

_ Geralt _

No. No this couldn’t be. A sob escapes Jaskier’s throat before he can swallow it. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut. He bites his lip and balls his fists. No. Not Geralt. Not only is his life spared and would there be no end to his agony. He will now have to face the man he never wanted to see again, the man who has brought him all this agony. 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Geralt spits at him when he has dispatched of the last man.

Jaskier’s jaw clenches at the tone in Geralt’s voice but he can’t bring himself to lie. Tears are threatening to spill out again but he swallows them back. He looks up at Geralt coldly.

“What do you care?” he says, his voice soft, barely audible to a normal human. Maybe this time, instead of just pushing him away, the witcher will finally do what everyone expected him to do a long time ago and put his sword through Jaskier. End his worthless life, make sure he can never bother Geralt again. 

“Get up,” Geralt says, a little more calmly. But Jaskier can still hear the irritation in his voice. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Jaskier spits back. 

He can see Geralt clench his jaw. But the witcher doesn’t move away, nor does he move to hurt Jaskier. He extends his hand for Jaskier to take.

“Don’t touch me,” Jaskier whimpers, tears blurring his vision. The pain in his chest is back, growing stronger the closer Geralt gets. It’s like the deep aching scar through which his heart was ripped out over two years ago, has been reopened. Reopened with violence and his still chattered, bruised heart shoved harshly back into his chest. The memories of his love for Geralt that had almost faded are reawakened. Now outlined with the truth, the truth that Geralt had always thought of him as useless. The numb void in his chest is gone, completely filled with agony again.

“J-just leave me alone.”

“Jaskier, get up. You can’t stay on the dirty street like this.”

Why does he not just leave? Geralt had wished for destiny to take Jaskier off his hands. And now he will not leave Jaskier to his own demise. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe the witcher just wishes to torture Jaskier more, remind him of how truly worthless he is. 

“What do you care?” Jaskier asks again, his expression angry and tears falling from his eyes. 

He’s looking Geralt in the eyes now, seeing the witcher’s startled expression at his tears. Then he sees Geralt’s expression shift, from shock to concern. Jaskier averts his gaze, he can’t bear to look at the witcher’s face when it’s like that. He’s doing it again, becoming a burden to the other man.

From the corner of his eye, Jaskier sees Geralt reach out for him, grab him by his upper arm. Jaskier tries to struggle against the grip, but it is more like a weak shake of his shoulders. All he can do is let Geralt pull him to his feet.

“You look like hell,” Geralt says, the concern also clear in his voice. 

“I’ve been through hell,” Jaskier mumbles, too soft for a human to hear, probably not too soft for Geralt’s enhanced hearing.  _ You’ve put me through hell _ , he thinks.

Geralt grabs Jaskier’s other upper arm and turns the bard towards him. Jaskier averts his gaze, letting his head fall uselessly to the side. 

“Where are you staying?” Geralt asks, the tone in his voice soft now. 

Jaskier clenches his eyes shut, he’s not willing to look at Geralt, hanging heavily in the witcher’s strong grip. 

“Please Jaskier, look at me. Which inn are you staying at?”

A small hint of irritation is back in Geralt’s voice but mostly the witcher still sounds concerned. Jaskier sighs heavily.

“A small inn, at the start of the main street,” Jaskier mumbles, still not looking Geralt in the eye. 

“Hmm,” Geralt replies. It’s a sound so familiar to Jaskier that if the circumstances were different, he would have snorted. Now he just lets himself be dragged back to the inn by the witcher.

All the way back to the inn neither of them speaks. The silence hangs thick between them. Normally Jaskier would have filled up these kinds of awkward silences with light chatter. But his light tone and cheeriness have left him a long time ago. Jaskier lets his head hang down, looking at his feet as they drag along the cobblestones, his weight partially supported by Geralt who’s holding him up by the arm. 

Just before they reach the inn Jaskier is staying at, the bard glances upwards. He catches Geralt looking down at him. The witcher’s brows are knitted together and his lips are pressed in a tight line. It’s an expression Geralt would usually wear when he’s deep in thought. 

When they reach the inn Geralt lets go of Jaskier’s arm and nods at him, still wearing that strange expression. 

“Alright then…” Geralt says eventually when Jaskier stays quiet. “Sleep well. I’ll get myself a room.”

Without paying much attention to the witcher Jaskier stumbles inside the inn and makes his way up the stairs. 

Once inside his room he lets himself fall face forward onto the bed, immediately hiding his face in the pillow. Before Jaskier realises he’s crying, his tears have created wet patches on the pillowcase. He weeps into the pillow, weeps until he’s out of breath. 

It has been months since he last cried like this. Jaskier feels dizzy, confused and angry. Why had Geralt come back? Why now? How did he find Jaskier? Is he going to leave him again? Jaskier’s sobbing grows louder, it hurts in his chest. He can’t make sense of what has happened. What does it all mean? Why does it still hurt so much? Why does it still feel like he would be better off dead? 

After a little while, Jaskier’s tears stop falling. His eyes are starting to drift close. He feels absolutely exhausted from everything that has happened over the past few days. His few near death experiences, getting beaten up, getting chased through the streets and having to deal with facing Geralt again. He feels absolutely drained.

Slowly, Jaskier falls asleep, without the help of alcohol this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck around! I'm so sorry for letting you wait and all the horrible things I have done to Jaskier in this chapter. I will try to post the next chapter a bit quicker (but I can't promise anything...)
> 
> The lyrics featured in this chapter are from 'My Immortal' by Evanescence. If you want to listen to it I suggest [this version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDAC2kL01d0) it suits better with the feel of this fic and Jaskier than the original (at least in my opinon)
> 
> Hit my up on twitter [@this_gdmn_thing](https://twitter.com/This_gdmn_thing)
> 
> (in case anyone needs it: [suicide crisis lines](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines))


	5. Distrust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the long wait. I have finished my school work so I will hopefully be able to update more regularly!
> 
> All warnings apply to this chapter as well.

**Distrust**

_You were supposed to be my light and keep me safe against them all..._

A throbbing, pressing pain at his temples. Jaskier groans and tries to open his eyes. The bright light that shines through the open curtains makes him hiss and close his eyes again. It feels like his head is being split in two. 

Jaskier brings his hands up to rub at his temples. It does nothing to relieve his throbbing headache. He does, however, feel that his forehead and hair are soaked in sweat. With his eyes still closed, he runs a hand through his hair. His bangs are plastered to his forehead and wet with cold sweat. Then he notices that his whole body is covered in a cold sweat. 

Jaskier slowly sits upright and groans at how sore his muscles are. His knees are scraped and bruised, and his ribs still hurt. Jaskier tries to crack his eyes open. He’s squinting at the bright light that is filling his room. His clothes are stuck to his body, damp and clammy. Jaskier shivers. 

With shaking hands he reaches for the blanket and wraps himself in it. His mouth feels dry and his stomach feels upset. 

Weird… It feels like the worst hangover he has ever had. But he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol since he had been thrown out onto the streets for occupying some table that was apparently someone’s property. That was certainly more than 24 hours ago…

Jaskier continues to shiver. He feels cold but he’s still sweating like he has a fever. His heart is pounding in his chest and he’s taking slow, shallow breaths. 

Outside his room, a door slams shut and the sound causes a sting of pain to run through Jaskier’s head. He groans. 

Jaskier looks around his room with squinted eyes. There are no bottles on the floor, they were all cleaned up by the maids. No empty bottle on his nightstand either. This certainly isn’t a hangover. It clearly can’t be because Jaskier already feels the strong need for some ale again. 

After a few more moments of sitting, wrapped in his blanket, trying to lessen his headache, Jaskier decides it is to no avail and he makes his way down to the tavern part of the inn. 

He stumbles into the small bar area, still squinting because of the bright light and the abundance of sound in the room. When he heads closer to the bar, Jaskier sees a man with white hair sitting on a stool. 

Memories of the previous night catch up with him and they almost knock Jaskier to the floor. He feels like he’s been hit in the chest. Before he can turn around, try to sneak away and deal with his bleeding heart on his own, Geralt has caught sight of him.

“Jaskier,” he calls out for the bard softly, his voice calm. 

Jaskier decides that the best he can do is not try to defy Geralt. He walks over to the witcher and pulls a stool out to sit next to him at the bar. He keeps his gaze downcast and stays silent. 

Jaskier can feel Geralt’s eyes observing him, scanning him for any reaction. 

“I ordered you breakfast,” Geralt says with a cough, breaking the thick silence. “But… It has gone cold, it’s already noon.”

“‘M not hungry,” Jaskier mumbles, casting a quick glance at the now cold porridge besides Geralt’s empty plate. 

Jaskier gestures to the barkeep. He has had many of these mornings, so the barkeep brings him his usual, a big tankard of ale and a shot of vodka on the side. Jaskier takes the shot and downs it in one big gulp. When he puts down the little glass again he notices Geralt looking at him. The witcher’s lips are pressed in a thin line and he’s frowning. 

“What?” Jaskier asks, his voice raspy from the alcohol. 

Geralt does not respond, he looks away from Jaskier and takes a sip from his own tankard. Jaskier sighs. He’s not in the mood for being judged. Sitting with Geralt was a bad idea. Jaskier knows he’s a mess and confronting the witcher with his misery will only make him more of a burden. 

Jaskier takes his tankard and climbs off his stool. 

“Jaskier please…” 

“Please what Geralt?” Jaskier sighs. He’s starting to get impatient, tears already stinging in his eyes. His chest is growing tighter again and the throbbing in his head isn’t helping either. He’s just not ready to face Geralt, his fragile heart is not ready. 

“Please don’t drink myself to death?! Please don’t bother you?!” He’s shouting now, slowly walking towards the stairs again. Jaskier shakes his head when Geralt stays silent, his brows knitted together. “Please… Geralt, _please_ … After two _fucking_ years… You just expect us to go back to normal?! _Really_? Don’t tell me what to do!”

With that he’s off, stomping up the stairs. Once inside his bedroom he slams the door shut and leans his back against it. Jaskier sighs heavily.

What is he doing? What is going on? For two years, two _fucking_ years he had wished for Geralt to come back to him. To come back and everything would go back to how it had been. But now the witcher finally found him, the pain that had tormented him over the past years was only growing worse. 

With the tragic realisation that things just _can’t_ simply go back to normal, Jaskier sinks to the floor, a silent tear running down his cheek. 

He trusted Geralt. Trusted the witcher with his life. But now he knows the truth… The ugly truth that Geralt would wish for him to be gone from his life… His trust has been broken. Jaskier feels so stupid, so _damn_ stupid. How could he have been so naive and love someone who never even cared for his existence? 

More tears have started to fall. Jaskier has his lips pressed tightly together so as not to make a sound. He takes a few big gulps from the ale he’s still holding and lets his head fall back against the door. 

Before Geralt found him there had been just darkness, no hope, only emptiness. He didn’t have to feel. He could just stay in his room and drown himself in wine, only delaying his inevitable demise. But now that Geralt is back, Jaskier is constantly reminded of his uselessness, of how much of a burden he is. Every time Geralt looks at him he relives the events on the mountain. Every time Geralt looks at him with this strange expression, Jaskier’s heart bleeds. The spark of hope he feels stings because deep down he knows that eventually, Geralt will leave him again. His heart shatters even further because in Geralt’s expression he can see how much of a burden he is. 

The pain in his chest is all Jaskier can feel at the moment. The aching, constricting weight that envelops his heart consumes all of Jaskier’s attention. 

He thought that the emptiness and darkness had been bad... It had made him want to feel something. But he longed back to the numbness now. Feeling nothing at all is easy compared to the feeling of your already shattered heart breaking all over again. 

Jaskier doesn’t know how long he sits against the door. All he knows is pain, agony, and torment. But somehow he makes it into his bed. 

Then there is a soft knock on the door. It startles Jaskier. He wipes at his cheeks but finds them dry already. He doesn’t answer the door but sits upright anyway in case a maid comes in. 

Slowly, the door creaks open and two yellow eyes stare at him from in the doorway. 

“What are you doing here?” Jaskier grumbles. 

“I-I brought you some dinner,” Geralt replies, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he walks into the room. 

“I already told you I’m not hungry.” Jaskier averts his gaze from the witcher’s. That strange worried expression is on Geralt’s face again. It tugs at Jaskier’s heartstrings. His broken, lovesick heart whispers that there is still hope that the witcher might care for him but the voice in his head screams at him, reminding him of how much of a burden he is.

“Please Jaskier, eat something,” the witcher says, concern in his voice. He walks over to Jaskier, placing the plate of stew onto the bed in front of him.

“What for?”

“You’ll starve.”

The reply almost makes Jaskier snort. Geralt has always been good at stating the obvious, in a very obvious manner. Jaskier shakes his head, tears prickling in his eyes again and heat is rising in his chest. Slowly he rises from the bed. 

“And what of it?! So what if I starve?!” Jaskier snaps, spreading his arms in a shrug. “I thought you wanted me out of your life?”

“Jaskier, I’m--”

“Oh no no no…” Jaskier cuts Geralt off. “No. Not after what you have done to me. I looked past your scary exterior, past the mutagens, blood and gore surrounding you. But you never cared about me! You told me to get out of your life, to _f-fuck_ _off_ … After _I_ comforted you, almost… _confessed_ to you. I asked you to leave with me, to get off that mountain and be with me! I never pushed you away despite all the hurt you’ve caused me!”

Jaskier is pacing around the room, gesturing wildly. Tears are blurring his vision, his voice breaks as he speaks.

“Oh for fucks sake, Geralt… I-I…” Jaskier turns to look the witcher in the eye, tears streaming down his face now. “I _loved_ you! I still do! I-I looked, for _years_ , for only the slightest bit of kindness from you. And _you…_ You just tossed me aside…” 

Jaskier swallows hard, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. His voice has grown softer, he sounds vulnerable and broken. “Y-you tossed me aside after 20 years… Like I never meant anything to you. I gave you my heart Geralt… And you took it... a-and broke it, cut it up, _shattered_ it!”

Jaskier is trembling. He looks at Geralt who is just looking back at him with the same strange expression. 

“So what are you doing here?!” Jaskier all but screams. “Have you come to torment me? Give me a teeny _tiny_ bit of hope and then… _l-leave_ me again? Break my heart again? Is that what you want… _witcher_ ? Show me yet again how much of a burden I am? Because if that’s so… T-then you better just put your sword through me _right now_.”

He’s panting, his face red from screaming and his eyes red from crying. Geralt is looking at him with a startled expression, his eyes wide. The witcher opens and closes his mouth a few times but doesn’t speak. A defeated sob escapes Jaskier’s throat when Geralt averts his eyes, his lips pressed tightly together. 

“Just leave me alone,” Jaskier says after he has turned around. He can’t look at the other man’s face any longer. 

After a few moments of silence, Jaskier hears Geralt move. The witcher heads for the door and closes it softly behind him, without a word. 

Once Jaskier is sure Geralt is out of earshot, he lets out the wail that he has been holding back. He lets himself fall back down onto the bed. His head lands next to the plate of stew Geralt had brought him. With an angry cry, Jaskier throws the plate against the door. It breaks when it hits the floor, the thick potato stew now splattered onto the door. 

Jaskier presses his head into the pillow and screams. He feels so conflicted. Part of him wants Geralt back so badly, so badly it makes his heart bleed. Another part of him tells him not to trust the witcher again, he’ll only end up hurting worse than before. Then there still is the voice in his head telling him how worthless he is, how he would be better off dead. 

Jaskier rolls over and reaches for the full bottle of wine on his bedside table. He pulls the cork out with his teeth and puts it to his lips. He drinks half of the bottle in big, continuous gulps. He so desperately wants to go back to the darkness, the emptiness of feeling nothing. He just wants the agony and conflict within him to end. 

His head is spinning by when he takes the bottle from his lips. Jaskier hasn’t eaten anything all day and the alcohol takes effect quickly. He can already feel his eyes starting to slip close. 

~~~

_Jaskier is standing on top of a mountain, behind him is a cliff, a dark drop down into the abyss. He is facing Geralt’s back. The witcher’s hair is blowing softly in the non-existent breeze._

_Jaskier wants to say something but his tongue does not cooperate. His jaw and whole body feel heavy, he is standing nailed to the spot. Then Geralt turns around, his golden eyes flashing red. The witcher spits incoherent words at Jaskier. Geralt’s lips are moving but the sounds coming from him don’t form sentences. It sounds more like thunder or smashing plates, angry and hateful._

_Geralt takes a step closer, an angry snarl on his face. The witcher’s eyes flash red again._

_“You’re worthless,” the sound is coming from Geralt’s mouth and Jaksier can see his lips moving but his voice sounds distorted._

_“You’re worthless.”_

_The voice sounds nothing like Geralt’s, it sounds more like Jaskier’s own voice. He wants to scream, to run away, to make it stop. But all he can do is stand, feet heavy and nailed to the spot. Geralt’s eyes are slowly being enveloped in black and black veins are appearing on his face and neck._

_“You’re worthless!” Geralt’s lips move but the words are spit with spite and the voice of his mother. Exactly the way she’d yelled at him when he left Lettenhove._

_The witcher steps closer to Jaskier and grabs the front of his doublet. Geralt’s eyes are fully black now and the veins stand out in strong contrast against his pale skin. The witcher lifts Jaskier off the ground by this doublet. Jaskier’s feet are dangling above the ground but he still feels heavy. He wants to move but he can’t._

_Geralt is smiling at him wickedly and slowly his face morphs into a rounder face covered in ugly tattoos. The face of the thug who had smashed his lute. Clint._

_“Leave!” the thug screams at Jaskier’s face. His voice also sounds distorted, but it is so loud it makes the edges of Jaskier’s vision blurry._

_A flash of his beloved lute being crushed underneath Clint’s boot flashes before Jaskier’s eyes. Then he’s staring into Geralt’s pitch-black eyes again._

_“A burden,” Geralt snarls, his voice sounds very much like his own this time. He lifts Jaskier higher off the ground and carries him backwards to the edge of the cliff. Jaskier is dangling above the abyss, nothing but darkness below him. The only thing that is keeping him from being consumed by the darkness below is Geralt holding his doublet._

_“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” Geralt’s lips barely move but the words ring in Jaskier’s ears loud and clear like the day he first heard them._

_Then Geralt let’s go of his doublet and Jaskier plunges into the abyss._

~~~

Jaskier wakes up with a scream. He bolts upright and clutches at his chest. He’s covered in cold sweat and panting hard. It takes a while for Jaskier to register that it has all been a dream. The words _worthless_ and _burden_ keep ringing around in his head. 

With shaky hands Jaskier reaches for the almost empty wine bottle on his nightstand. He takes a careful sip and winces at the sour taste of it. After a few more sips he lays his head down onto the pillow again. 

His breathing and heart rate have returned to normal again but Jaskier is still shaking. His fingers itch for the strings of his lute. The only thing that helps to calm him down after a nightmare. 

But his lute lays broken on a dirty tavern floor. His only comfort shattered into a thousand pieces. He longs for the feeling of the strings against his fingers, for the feeling of the body vibrating against his chest. He wants to feel the beautiful polished wood. Smell the lute oil carefully preserving his beloved instrument. 

Jaskier cries out in agony. He will never have that feeling again. He doesn’t have money to buy a new lute. Besides, it could never replace his old lute. A lute he has had for over two decades, gifted to him by an elven king the day he had met Geralt. The memory makes his heart ache. 

He takes another sip from the bottle. After placing it aside he clutches his pillow tightly, pressing his cheek into the rough fabric. The words _worthless_ and _burden_ are still bouncing around in his head, keeping him from getting any more rest.

After many hours of tossing and turning, Jaskier eventually falls into a dreamless sleep. 

~~~

The bright light of the noon sun wakes Jaskier from his sleep. He’s still clutching his pillow tightly when he opens his eyes. It takes a while for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the sunlight shining through his window. 

With a groan Jaskier turns onto his back, staring blankly at the wooden ceiling. His stomach rumbles. Normally he would ignore it, not feeling any desire to eat, but his stomach growls so much that it hurts. With a heavy sigh and heavy feet, Jaskier drags himself out of bed and down the stairs. 

When he enters the bar area he looks around with a nervous feeling building in his gut. His eyes are searching for any sign of Geralt. Jaskier clearly remembers everything he had screamed at the witcher. Yesterday he didn’t react at all, but what will Geralt say when he spots Jaskier again. Jaskier is slightly trembling and sweating at the thought of having an argument with Geralt. 

The anxious feeling in his stomach grows stronger when, after a few moments of searching, he doesn’t spot Geralt. With his heart pounding in his throat Jaskier walks towards the bar. 

“Ya looking for the witcher?” the barkeep asks when he sees Jaskier looking around frantically and wide-eyed. 

Jaskier nods. He is afraid that if he speaks, he’ll burst into tears. 

“He left this morning,” the man answers. 

“W-what?” Jaskier’s voice comes out as a high pitched squeak. 

The barkeeper replies but Jaskier can’t hear him, all sounds blur together and ring in his ears. He turns around, his vision is turning blurry from the tears. He stumbles towards the stairs again, tripping over his own feet. 

People are passing him on his way up the stairs but Jaskier does not register any of it. It feels like his world comes crashing down. His fragile heart was hanging on to the little sliver of hope that Geralt wouldn’t leave him again. This sliver has now been roughly torn from his grasp. The voice in his head is laughing at him, telling him _I told you so_. 

When Jaskier enters his room he immediately heads for his bag. He searches it frantically, throwing his clothes aside to find his last bottle of wine. 

~~~

Jaskier is sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his bed. He has the almost empty wine bottle in one hand and with the other he is drumming his fingers onto his knee. He hums to himself softly, his whole body aching for his lute. 

Jaskier’s cheeks are still wet from crying but there is an angry snarl on his face. His humming is slowly growing louder. 

Suddenly he gets up, swaying on his feet, and starts singing at the top of his lungs.

“ _This here is not singing, I’m just screaming in tune because...”_

Jaskier is gesturing wildly as he sings, wine bottle still in his hand and tears streaming down his face again.

“ _Farewell Wanderlust, you’ve been ever so kind…_

_You brought me through this darkness but you left me here behind…”_

A sob escapes him after the last word. He’s panting now with the energy it costs him to bellow out the song.

“ _And so long to the person you begged me to be…_ ”

Jaskier puts the bottle to his lips again and finishes it in messy gulps, causing half of the red liquid to spill over his chin. He almost loses his balance when he leans backwards to get the last drops out of the bottle.

“ _He’s down. He’s dead…_ ”

He’s panting more than singing now. Jaskier slowly sinks to his knees, looking at the floor. 

“ _Now take a long look at what you’ve done to me…_ ”

The lyrics leave his throat with a pained cry. 

Jaskier screams. All the hurt and agony that have been building inside him for over two years have reached a peak and it’s coming out in one big harrowing wail. He grabs his own hair with both hands as he screams, the empty wine bottle he’s still holding bumping into his forehead. This only agonizes Jaskier further and he throws the bottle against the wall. It breaks on impact, tiny shards of glass litter the floor. 

Jaskier screams until his voice goes hoarse and his throat hurts. Slowly his screaming turns into sobbing, each sob makes his body shake violently.

He should have known that Geralt would leave him again. But still… Jaskier has held on to a tiny piece of hope. The hope that after he confessed his love for the witcher, Geralt would see what he had done to him. That Geralt would realise how much suffering he caused Jaskier instead of the other way around. But he hadn’t even gotten an apology from the other man. 

Slowly Jaskier climbs to his feet. He supports himself against the wall with both of his hands. He’s panting and his head is spinning from the booze and the crying. 

“I-I can’t… I-I can’t do this anymore…” Jaskier mumbles to himself. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut when a whimper escapes his throat. 

Jaskier looks around the room. Soft evening light is shining through his window, filling the room with an orange glow. It illuminates the uncomfortable bed and bounces off the thousand pieces of glass covering the floor. Then his eyes catch sight of the bottle of moonshine. It’s more than half empty but usually, a few big mouthfuls of the stuff are enough to put him to sleep. 

He stumbles over to the dresser and takes the bottle. Jaskier pulls out the cork and sniffs it. The smell of the strong alcohol alone is enough to make him cough. In his already drunken state, one big gulp of the stuff should be enough to send him off to sleep. 

Jaskier puts the bottle to his lips and lets the burning liquid run into his mouth. He swallows, tears stinging in his eyes because of the immense amount of alcohol in it. Then he swallows again, downing another mouthful. Then again… and again. Until the bottle is empty. 

When Jaskier lowers the bottle from his lips he almost falls over. His vision goes black for a second and he nearly loses his balance. He catches himself on the dresser, causing the bottle to drop out of his hand in the process. It clatters to the floor. 

Jaskier holds his head with one hand. He is sweating and his vision is spinning. 

“F-fuck… shit,” Jaskier curses when his knees almost give out. He did not expect the alcohol to take its effect so quickly. He feels dizzy and disoriented, the sweat on his body is quickly cooling down because of the cold evening air, making him shiver. Jaskier is gasping for breath at this point. 

Jaskier tries to make his way over to the bed but as soon as he lets go of the dresser he tumbles to the floor. He catches himself on his hands before he slams headfirst into the floorboards. His hands land in the pieces of broken bottles that litter the ground. Jaskier hisses and turns to his side.

Glass digs into his shoulder and shards protrude from his palms. The shapes are vague but Jaskier can see blood flowing from the wounds. 

He tries to get up onto his knees but falls over a few times in the process. More glass cuts his skin. When he finally manages to sit up on his knees Jaskier is panting. His breath is coming out in short irregular puffs. The edges of his vision are starting to darken and Jaskier can feel his consciousness slipping away. 

Then, without warning, the door slams open. 

“G-Geralt..?” Jaskier asks in confusion when he sees the witcher burst into the room. Jaskier’s speech is slurred and his vision is slowly growing dark. 

He can vaguely hear Geralt scream at him but he cannot make out the words. All of a sudden the world turns sideways and the floorboards quickly come into view. 

Then there’s nothing but darkness...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always love reading what you guys think! Comments are love!
> 
> In this chapter Jaskier sings part of 'Farewell Wanderlust' by The Amazing Devil. (And as many might have noticed all titles are inspired by this band).
> 
> You can find me on twitter as well: [@this_gdmn_thing](https://twitter.com/This_gdmn_thing)
> 
> (Stay safe everyone: [suicide crisis lines](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines))
> 
> **Next chapter will be Geralt's POV!!!**


	6. Awareness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Geralt's POV**

**Awareness**

_Now take a good long look at what you've done to me..._

_Two days earlier…_

Geralt steps out of the blacksmith’s shop, a heavy coin purse hanging from his belt. During the previous night, he had taken care of a Nightwraith that had been haunting a well nearby the home of the blacksmith’s daughter. The man had promised him a generous reward for his efforts to kill the monster so Geralt had taken on the contract in Hengfors. 

Hengfors is a pretty big town so there must be more contracts waiting for him out here. Geralt starts to look for a noticeboard and his next contract. 

When he passes by some market stalls he overhears a conversation between two women. 

“Such a shame that master Jaskier doesn’t play in Hengfors anymore,” one of the women says to the other while arranging some fabrics on her stall. 

The familiar name catches Geralt’s attention. He pretends to inspect the cabbages on a nearby market stand. Meanwhile, he focuses his hearing on the conversation. 

“I heard he’s still around though,” the other woman speaks. “I only heard that he’s in pretty bad shape.”

“Oh my… What happened to him?”

“I don’t know. My cousin told me she’d seen him and just said he didn’t look too well.”

Geralt is on full alert now. Jaskier might have gotten himself into trouble again. But the women change the subject of their conversation and Geralt doesn’t manage to find out where Jaskier could be. 

His curiosity gets the better of him and he approaches the women. They seem slightly startled at the sight of a witcher in full armour walking towards them. 

“Excuse me,” Geralt says, trying to keep his voice soft so he doesn’t frighten the ladies any further. “Do you maybe know where I can find master Jaskier?”

After some hesitation one of the women replies. “I’m sorry I do not. My cousin saw him a while ago, she works at the fish stand with her husband.”

Geralt nods at the women and grunts his thanks. Then he heads off to the fish stand. 

It has been over two years since he’s last seen Jaskier. They didn’t actually part on good terms. The memory makes him feel guilty. After two years without the bard, Geralt severely regrets lashing out at Jaskier after the dragon hunt. Now that he has found his child surprise and she is safe with Vesemir in Kear Morhen, he comes to realise that it isn’t actually that bad. The girl is truly lovely and Geralt is secretly glad he’s met her.

He managed to clear things up with Yennefer. They will probably not go back to the way they were before the dragon hunt but at least she can tolerate his presence again. That just leaves Jaskier… Geralt misses the bard’s chatter and even his singing. He tries not to think about Jaskier too often because the memory of the boy leaves him feeling guilty and lonely. However, it’s probably better that they parted ways. Geralt was growing too attached to Jaskier which would only lead to him getting hurt because of Geralt in some way. The Path was no place for a bard, way too dangerous. Without Geralt, Jaskier could live the life he deserved, a life without constant threat. The honourable life he deserves, not a life filled with the prejudice and angry threats from the public that follow a witcher.

Geralt walks up to the fish stands. A man and a woman are laying freshly caught fish out onto the stall. When Geralt approaches the woman turns towards him.

“The freshest fish in all of Hengfors!”

“I’m not looking to buy fish,” Geralt replies, earning a strange look from the woman. “I was wondering if you could tell me where you’ve last seen master Jaskier, the bard.”

“That has been a while ago, good sir. He did look a little pale when I saw him, but he’s not in any trouble is he?”

Geralt hums in the negative. At least he hopes Jaskier isn’t in any trouble. 

“Alright… Have you seen him Pete?” the woman asks her husband. 

“I saw him wandering around the Dry Eagle Pub yesterday. It’s west of here.” 

Geralt thanks the couple and heads west. 

For some reason, his heart is pounding in his chest as he walks. Geralt doesn’t know why but it is almost like he’s nervous. What will Jaskier say when he sees him again? Geralt had lashed out at him pretty bad so Jaskier has every right to be angry. Geralt hopes he isn’t. Although he would never admit it out loud, he misses Jaskier a lot. The days had grown quiet without Jaskier’s cheery chatter. Before they met Geralt never had any problems with silence but since Jaskier had started filling the quiet of his nights, Geralt finds that he is terribly lonely without it.

~~~

The sun is already setting when Geralt finally finds the Dry Eagle Pub. The man’s description had been pretty vague and the tavern had been further away than Geralt thought. 

The Dry Eagle Pub is a tiny building made out of dark wood that is rotting in multiple places. _Not a place Jaskier would quickly visit_ , Geralt thinks. Two old men are sitting at the front of the building. Their long grey hair and beards are dirty and one of them is smoking a pipe. 

“A witcher..?” the man with the pipe mumbles when Geralt approaches. 

“I’m looking for someone,” Geralt tells the men. “Have you seen a bard, most likely dressed in fancy silks and carrying a lute?”

The two men look at each other, squinting their eyes. Then the one with the pipe nods.

“We did,” the man says. “He got kicked out by the boss last night. Landed right over there.” The man points at the gutter in front of the dark little building. 

Geralt can feel frustration welling up in him. How did Jaskier manage to get himself kicked out of a tavern by its owner? With whose wife did he sleep this time?

He nods to the men and walks over to where one of them pointed. 

Geralt kneels down and narrows his eyes. He can only just make out a smear of blood in the gutter, most of it washed away by last night’s rain. He wipes his fingers through the spot and sniffs them. The blood is not that old, could very well be spilt last night. 

Geralt stands up and looks around a little more. There are barely visible footprints on the side of the road. Geralt walks closer and inspects them. One of the people the prints belong to was carrying some weight, the other dragging their feet or being dragged. 

Geralt follows the trail. He encounters more bloodstains along the way. As well as an imprint someone left from falling over, an imprint left by a person roughly Geralt’s own height but with a smaller build. Next to the imprint Geralt finds a pile of vomit, barely washed away by the rain. Geralt leans closer and notices it smells strongly of alcohol. 

The imprint must have been left by Jaskier. Geralt deduces that the boy has been dragged away by someone. He has probably fallen over and was most likely drunk. What the hell has the bard gotten himself into this time?

Geralt follows the trail, worry building in his chest. The trail leads him to a small house, quite some distance away from the Dry Eagle Pub. Whoever took Jaskier to the house, clearly had plans with him and was not willing to leave him in the street. To Geralt, this could only mean trouble…

When he reaches the little building he knocks on the front door with force. After a little while, he hears a key turning in a lock and a woman talking behind the door. 

“I told you you didn’t have to thank… me…” the woman stops talking mid sentence as she opens the door and catches sight of Geralt. “Oh… Hello, what can I do for you?”

“Where is he?” Geralt demands. The woman squints her eyes at the threatening tone in the witcher’s voice. 

“I’m afraid I do not know what you mean,” she replies, folding her arms. 

“The bard, I know he’s here,” Geralt says, getting slightly impatient. If she or whatever she’s keeping inside her house has hurt Jaskier, Geralt can’t promise not to spill some blood himself. “The trail of his blood leads to your doorway.”

“If you are here to hurt him you’re out of luck! He already left!”

Geralt is surprised at the defensive tone in the woman’s voice. He raises his hands in surrender. She clearly hasn’t harmed Jaskier.

“I’m not here to hurt him,” Geralt keeps the tone of his voice soft and takes a few steps away from the woman, making himself seem less threatening. When the woman relaxes a bit, Geralt speaks again. “I just want to find him and make sure he doesn’t get hurt again. Can you tell me where he went?”

After a long pause and a few mistrustful glances, the woman finally answers. 

“I found him on the street, passed out. I’ve cared for him in my home and now he’s gone back to an inn. Sadly, I don’t know which inn but he went north.”

“Thank you,” Geralt mumbles before turning around. 

The woman catches him by the arm though. Geralt stops and looks her in the eye, she has a sad worried expression on her face.

“Please make sure he’s alright. I tried to patch him up the best I could but there are some things I just can’t fix.” 

Geralt nods but is unsure of what she means exactly. The way she says it does not seem to imply that Jaskier would need an actual healer. Geralt thinks she might mean that Jaskier is still hurt in some other way. The bard might have lost all of his coin, or his pride or his favourable reputation. Geralt decides not to ask her about it and heads north. 

Geralt inspects the street. There are many tracks visible, all blending together. There is no sign of blood anywhere, so Jaskier must not have been bleeding anymore when he left. Geralt inhales deeply, trying to catch some of Jaskier’s scent. The streets smell of burning firewood, food and dirt. There is no hint of the familiar smell of Jaskier on the streets, no trace of flowery perfume or the sandalwood oil the bard uses on his lute.

Geralt sighs. Finding Jaskier without picking up a track or his scent is like finding a needle in a haystack. Geralt’s concern exceeds his irritationhowever, and he starts to follow the road. 

Geralt passes several inns. He peaks through every window, searching for the familiar sight of Jaskier playing his lute. But to no avail, there is no sign of the bard. 

Suddenly, Geralt’s attention is caught by the sound of commotion in a nearby street. 

Geralt focusses his hearing. He can hear several people shouting and running through the streets. He heads towards the sound. 

The sound is growing louder. Geralt sees someone turning a street corner on a cross-section just several paces away from him. The person slips and falls to his knees. Behind the person, running directly towards the cross-section, are four men, unsheeting their swords. 

Geralt starts to run towards the cross-section as well. When he comes closer he immediately recognises the person. It’s Jaskier. He’s not getting up and the four men with swords are approaching fast. 

Geralt draws his own sword. He’s just in time before one of the men’s swords hits Jaskier’s neck. The impact of the blade onto the steel of his own sends vibrations up Geralt's sword and his arms. He swiftly steps between Jaskier’s kneeled form and the man and pushes him away with his sword. 

The man stumbles backwards. The other three men charge at Geralt, screaming. Geralt quickly raises his sword in defence and blocks a few incoming blows. With two powerful strikes he eliminates two opponents. 

With a quick pirouette, Geralt manages to block both the blow aimed at his chest and the blow aimed at his back. He immobilizes one of the men by slicing through the tendons attached to the back of his knees. The man falls to the ground screaming in pain. The last man turns around and tries to flee. But Geralt is not about to let him get away with almost killing his bard. 

With an impressive swing of his arm, he throws his blade at the man. The sword pierces the man from behind and he slumps to the floor. With an angry snarl Geralt pulls his blade from the man's back and walks back to the one still screaming on the floor. 

With a growl, he grabs the bleeding man by the front of his filthy shirt. Behind him, Geralt hears Jaskier let out a choked sob. Without remorse, Geralt dispatches the last thug by slicing his throat. 

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Geralt snarls at Jaskier when he turns to face the bard, the adrenaline from the fight is still coursing through Geralt’s veins. He’s angry at the men for trying to kill Jaskier but also irritated by the bard’s own incompetence to stay out of trouble.

“What do you care?” Geralt hears Jaskier mumble. It’s barely audible but Geralt’s enhanced hearing picks it up loud and clear. The question tugs slightly at Geralt’s heartstrings. Jaskier has every reason to be angry but Geralt has never expressed the wish for him to be dead. 

Geralt sighs softly. “Get up”, he says, his voice softer this time. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Jaskier spits at him.

Geralt flinches at the tone in Jaskier’s voice and clenches his jaw. He’s never seen Jaskier react like this and deny his help, it makes his stomach drop. He reaches out for Jaskier, offering him a hand to take. 

“Don’t touch me,” Jaskier whimpers. Geralt can see the bard’s bottom lip trembling. Then the strong acidic smell of fear reaches his nose. Geralt bites his lip, Jaskier has never smelled of fear when there are no monsters around. Jaskier has never smelled of fear _because of Geralt._

“J-just leave me alone,” the bard’s voice breaks as he speaks. 

“Jaskier, get up. You can’t stay on the dirty street like this,” Geralt tries. He’s not willing to leave the bard behind like this. Frightened, cold and alone. 

Jaskier looks up at him then. “What do you care?” he asks, his voice and expression angry. Tears are streaming down his face. 

Geralt raises his eyebrows in shock. The younger boy looks so hurt, so afraid. Afraid _of Geralt_. Geralt feels a heavy weight settle in his chest and his brows frown together in concern. When Jaskier looks away from him, Geralt kneels down next to him. Slowly, as not to startle the bard, he reaches for his arm. Geralt pulls him to his feet, ignoring his struggling. 

“You look like hell,” he says, looking up and down Jaskier’s body. The bard has grown skinny, his clothes hanging loosely on his now thin frame. He has dark circles underneath his eyes and the stubble on his chin tells Geralt he hasn’t been taking good care of himself. 

“I’ve been through hell,” Jaskier replies. 

Geralt’s concern grows stronger. What happened to him while he was alone? Geralt doesn’t dare to imagine. He tries to get Jaskier to look at him and grabs the boy’s other upper arm. But Jaskier still doesn’t look at him. The way Jaskier lets his head droop and leans into Geralt’s strong grip, makes Geralt want to pull the bard into a hug. But he doesn’t because the younger boy still smells of fear. 

“Where are you staying?” Geralt asks. When he gets no reaction he tries again with a small sigh. “Please Jaskier, look at me. Which inn are you staying at?”

“A small inn, at the start of the main street,” Jaskier eventually replies. 

Geralt lifts one of Jaskier’s arms over his shoulder with a huff and supports the bard’s weight as he drags him towards the main street. 

Jaskier is hanging limply in his grip and it pains Geralt to see the bard this apathetic. There is a heavy silence between them. Geralt wants to say something but has no idea what. Usually, Jaskier would fill up silences like this with songs or chatter. But the bard has his head down, his feet dragging along the cobblestones. 

Geralt keeps shooting short glances at the younger boy. He wishes he was as good with words as Jaskier is, then he would know what to say. Geralt catches Jaskier’s eye when he looks up at him. Geralt can still see tears in the bard’s eyes. The hurt and utterly defeated look in Jaskier’s eyes makes Geralt’s heart heavy and guilt settles in his stomach. 

When they reach the inn Geralt lets go of Jaskier. The boy sways a little on his feet, clearly exhausted from the crying and the running. There is an awkward silence between them again. Jaskier stays silent and Geralt is never really the first one to speak. 

“Alright then..” Geralt mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sleep well. I’ll get myself a room.”

Without a word Jaskier stumbles past him and up the stairs, leaving Geralt to get a room for himself. 

The innkeeper is eyeing him weirdly when he walks up to the bar.

“Are you with the bard?” the innkeeper asks. 

“I… Yes,” Geralt replies. “I need a room for myself though.”

“I can’t give you another one,” the innkeeper says, sounding stern. “He already has too many unpaid bills around here.”

Geralt sighs. Everything he has seen from Jaskier this evening has been so unlike his normal behaviour. Something is off. And the feeling in Geralt’s gut tells him something is terribly off. 

“I’ll pay his debt,” Geralt replies, already pulling out his coin purse. 

The innkeeper smiles widely. When Geralt hears the amount Jaskier still owns the man he’s slightly taken aback but still pays anyway. 

Geralt takes the key to his own room and heads up the stairs. Upstairs he listens closely, but all the rooms are quiet. Jaskier has probably already fallen asleep. 

With a heavy feeling in his stomach, and thoughts racing through his head, Geralt retreats to his own room. 

~~~

The next morning Geralt wakes up early, as usual. He heads down to the tavern part of the inn and orders breakfast for himself and Jaskier. The bard has grown dangerously skinny and Geralt thinks that it must be because he somehow ran out of coin. 

Geralt eats his breakfast in silence. Jaskier has clearly been through a lot since Geralt left him on the mountain. Guilt gnaws at the witcher’s insides. Jaskier clearly didn’t find the life he deserves after Geralt left him. He had hoped that the bard would find better company than him. Company more deserving of his songs and praise than some mutated monster killer like himself. Geralt had hoped that Jaskier would be better off without him, but the boy’s current state clearly proves different. 

Completely lost in his own head, Geralt doesn’t notice the hours that pass. He drinks a few pints of ale and orders some more food for himself. When he looks up from his third empty tankard, he notices that the light in the room has changed. It must already be noon. 

Jaskier usually sleeps longer than Geralt does. But staying in bed until noon is very unlike the active and cheerful bard Geralt knows. What is taking Jaskier so long? The food Geralt has ordered for him has already grown cold. 

When Geralt orders another ale he hears someone stumble into the bar area. After paying the barkeep he looks up and sees Jaskier standing in the doorway, slightly hunched over and squinting. He looks like he’s in pain. Geralt calls for him softly. 

Luckily Jaskier doesn’t turn away and stumbles towards Geralt. Only now in the light of day Geralt notices how skinny the bard has actually gotten. His clothes look like they are a few sizes too big. His arms, shoulders and legs look thin, no longer a trace of the muscle he used to have. The first time Geralt saw Jaskier without his doublet and shirt on, he was surprised by the strength of the boy’s body. All that strength seems to have left Jaskier now. There is no longer a spring in his step, instead his feet drag across the floorboard and it seems like he has barely any energy to walk. 

Jaskier sits down next to him and stays silent. He looks worn out and miserable and Geralt can feel the guilt in his chest building. 

With a cough, he breaks the silence between them. “I ordered you breakfast… But… It has gone cold, it’s already noon.”

“‘M not hungry,” Jaskier replies, still not looking up at Geralt. 

Geralt wants to say something about the boy’s reaction. How he can’t not be hungry because he looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. But before he can speak the barkeep puts a large tankard of ale and a little glass with clear liquid in front of Jaskier. He takes the glass and swallows its contents in one mouthful. Geralt can smell the large amount of alcohol in the liquid, it’s probably vodka. Geralt has never seen Jaskier take a shot of strong liquor in the morning. This cannot be a good sign…

“What?” Jaskier asks him when he catches Geralt staring at him. 

Geralt just looks away with a huff and takes a careful sip from his own tankard. He doesn’t dare to look the younger boy in the eyes, afraid that he will say something wrong because of the guilt and the concern gnawing at him.

With a heavy sigh, Jaskier stands up. 

“Jaskier please…” Geralt quickly speaks, almost sounding desperate. 

“Please what Geralt?” Jaskier replies with another sigh. 

The defeated look in the bard’s eyes makes Geralt’s heart drop. 

“Please don’t drink myself to death?! Please don’t bother you?!” Jaskier suddenly shouts at him.

Geralt is taken aback by the bard’s reaction. He reaches out for Jaskier but the boy is already slowly walking backwards towards the stairs. 

“Please… Geralt, _please_ …” Jaskier continues. The way his voice breaks makes the guilt in Geralt’s chest grow. “After two _fucking_ years… You expect us to go back to normal?! _Really_? Don’t tell me what to do!”

Before Geralt can respond or move to stop Jaskier, the bard runs out of the room. Geralt hears him stomping up the stairs. Geralt’s throat feels obstructed with all the words he’s left unsaid and he swallows.

Behind the bar, a woman and the cook of the inn have joined the barkeep, probably out of curiosity to see what caused the commotion. They are all looking at Geralt wide-eyed. 

“What was that about?” the woman behind the bar asks, worry written across her wrinkly features.

With an irritated sigh Geralt turns to face the curious inn employees. The look of irritation on his face morphs into a sad frown when Geralt realises what the answer to the woman’s question is. It took him two years before he even started looking for Jaskier. Even now he still hasn’t apologised. Even though he thought that Jaskier would be better off without him all this time, the least he could have done in the past two years was visit and apologize. Because Geralt does truly feel sorry for what he said. He’d been angry and hurt, and Jaskier had been the victim of his rage.

“I’ve made a terrible mistake,” he mumbles to the inn employees as he gets up from the bar. 

Geralt heads to the stables to brush Roach and clear his head. Talking to his mare always helps him gather his thoughts. 

~~~

It’s evening when Geralt walks up the stairs of the inn with a plate of potato stew in his hand. He has already finished his own dinner but wants to make sure Jaskier eats something as well. 

When Geralt reaches the door of Jaskier’s room he raises his hand to knock on the door, but he stops himself at the last second. Geralt bites his lip and takes a few deep breaths. He can do this. As long as he keeps his voice quiet and lets Jaskier vent out all his anger first. Then he will apologize for everything he’s said and ask the younger boy for forgiveness. Geralt isn’t good with words and certainly not with apologizing, but he would do anything to have his cheery, talkative, albeit a little annoying at times, and happy bard back.

With a heavy, suffocating feeling in his chest and trembling hands, Geralt knocks on the door.

There is no answer. 

Geralt hesitantly shifts from foot to foot, unsure if he should knock again or just walk in. After taking another breath to steady himself, Geralt gently pushes the door open. 

“What are you doing here?” Geralt hears Jaskier mumble when he peeks his head around the door. 

“I-I brought you some dinner,” Geralt stammers. Slowly he approaches Jaskier, holding out the plate of stew and rubbing his neck. He tries to smile and sound casual but he fails miserably, the constricting weight in his chest growing tighter when he sees the state Jaskier is in. 

“I already told you I’m not hungry.”

“Please, Jaskier, eat something,” Geralt pleads. He can’t stand seeing the bard in this state. His body looks so fragile. 

Geralt slowly walks over to Jaskier and places the plate of stew onto the bed. He takes a step back from the bed afterwards, trying not to seem threatening. 

“What for?” Jaskier asks, an angry frown on his face. 

“You’ll starve,” Geralt replies, sounding concerned. 

Geralt takes another step back from Jaskier when the boy raises to his feet. Geralt’s heart is screaming for him to reach out for the bard, to pull him into a hug and beg for forgiveness. But Geralt creates room between him and Jaskier, giving the other space. 

“And what of it?! So what if I starve?!” Jaskier all but screams at his face. The reply tugs at Geralt’s heartstrings. “I thought you wanted me out of your life?”

Geralt reaches out for the bard then. “Jaskier, I’m--”

“Oh no no no…” Jaskier cuts him off, causing Geralt to draw his hand back. “No. Not after what you have done to me. I looked past your scary exterior, past the mutagens, blood and gore surrounding you. But you never cared about me!”

Jaskier’s words hit Geralt like a kick in the chest. He can see tears filling the bard’s eyes and Geralt’s heart breaks at the sight.

“You told me to get out of your life, to _f-fuck off_ …” Jaskier continues, his voice breaking. “After _I_ comforted you, almost… _confessed_ to you. I asked you to leave with me, to get off that mountain and be with me! I never pushed you away despite all the hurt you’ve caused me! Oh for fucks sake, Geralt… I-I…”

Jaskier is looking Geralt in the eye now, thick tears rolling over his cheeks. Geralt swallows hard, a lump forming in his own throat.

“I _loved_ you! I still do!”

Jaskier’s words hit Geralt like a slap in the face. He _loved_ him? How could someone like Jaskier love a witcher? 

“I-I looked, for _years_ , for only the slightest bit of kindness from you,” Jaskier is sobbing heavily in between sentences. “And _you_ … You tossed me aside… Y-you tossed me aside after 20 years… Like I never meant anything to you. I gave you my heart Geralt… And you took it… a-and broke it, cut it up, _shattered_ it!”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say. He is still trying to process that Jaskier _loved_ him. The bard looks so broken and fragile now. Geralt wants to hold him, comfort him. But he knows he has fucked up, badly. He tried to keep Jaskier at a safe distance to protect him. And to protect himself from falling head over heels for a bard that is way too good for a simple witcher like Geralt. Instead, because of his own ignorance, he never showed Jaskier how much he cared for him. And now he’s losing him…

“So what are you doing here?!” Jaskier screams when Geralt stays quiet. “Have you come to torment me? Give me a teeny _tiny_ bit of hope and then… _l-leave_ me again? Break my heart again? Is that what you want… _witcher_? Show me yet again how much of a burden I am? Because if that’s so…”

Geralt is shaking his head, the constricting feeling in his chest stealing the air from his lungs. 

“T-then you better just put your sword through me _right now_ ,” Jaskier says. 

Geralt's eyes widen at the bard’s words. He would never do that. He would never intentionally hurt Jaskier. Geralt wants to express his thoughts. Express how he has missed Jaskier, how he has made the biggest mistake of his entire damn life. But all words fail him. He opens his mouth a few times, trying to form a sentence, but all that leaves his lips is a short gasp. Eventually, Geralt averts his gaze, he can no longer bear to look at Jaskier’s tear stained eyes. 

“Just leave me alone,” Jaskier says with a sob. 

Geralt clenches his jaw and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. His hands are balling into fists, he’s so irritated with himself that he can’t just say what he means. Jaskier has his back turned to him now and Geralt can hear him take shaky breaths. 

With a soft sigh and the lump in his throat only growing bigger, Geralt gets up and walks out of the room. He closes the door of Jaskier’s room behind him and seeks solitude in his own chamber. 

Geralt closes the door behind himself and leans his forehead against the wall next to it. He’s panting, the constricting feeling in his chest is making it hard to breathe. Again, he tries to swallow the lump in his throat but it will not go down.

_I loved you…_

Jaskier’s words are still ringing in his ears. Geralt lets out a frustrated groan and slams his fists onto the wall next to his head. 

_I loved you…_

_I gave you my heart Geralt…_

_And you broke it…_

_Cut it up…_

_Shattered it…_

“Fuck…” Geralt whispers to himself, his voice comes out shaky. He buries his hands into his hair, clutching his head in frustration. He’s so angry at himself. 

“Fuck!” Geralt screams as he punches the wall. The force of the blow causes the wooden wall to splinter. Again Geralt groans. Now he will have to pay for the damage as well. 

Defeated and still breathing hard, Geralt sits down on his bed. He lets his head fall into his hands and takes a shaky breath. 

How could he have been so stupid. How could he not have realised what love looked like. He’d always kept Jaskier at a distance, too far away for him to see the bard the way he saw Geralt. Too far away to show Jaskier how much he means to him. 

Geralt thought he knew what love was when he met Yennefer. But now he realises that the nervous, almost nauseous feeling he felt upon meeting her again wasn’t love. He forced her into his life. He never forced Jaskier to be at his side. The bard always stayed because he wanted to. He made Geralt feel relaxed and at ease, annoyed at times but mostly Jaskier made his life on the Path easier. With Yen everything became more complicated. 

He always dreaded parting with Yennefer. But he came to realise that it was because if he left on his own terms it would leave the sorceress angry. And if she left him it was almost always sudden, like he was being tossed aside because she was bored with him. Parting with Jaskier had been different. Geralt knew he could always come and go as he pleased. And each time they parted, before winter came, for example, it felt sort of bittersweet. Geralt knew he would miss Jaskier but at the same time, he was comforted by the knowledge that he would see the bard again come spring. 

But the last time they parted had been different. Geralt broke Jaskier’s heart and tossed him aside like the many times Yennefer had tossed him aside. Now that he realises the damage of his actions, Geralt can feel his own heart breaking.

“How have I been so blind...” Geralt whispers to himself before covering his mouth with his hand. His eyes are stinging and wide in shock. 

All this time Gerals has tried to distance himself from Jaskier so as to not get too attached to the bard. But he has failed miserably. Geralt feels like an arrow has been shot into his chest and it leaves him gasping for breath. He doesn’t want to lose Jaskier. 

“Please Jaskier…” Geralt mumbles to himself. “Forgive me…”

After sitting with his head buried in his hands for what feels like hours, Geralt decides to meditate. He sits down on his knees in front of the bed and tries to steady his breathing. 

But it is difficult for Geralt to slip into a meditative state. He keeps seeing Jaskier’s tear stained eyes in his mind. The desperate, defeated look on the bard’s face haunts him. He keeps hearing Jaskier’s sobs and screams, the way his voice broke when he told Geralt he loved him. 

Geralt tries to focus his attention on the sounds around him instead of his thoughts. He hears the wind howling outside, some people still shuffling around in the hallway. He hears the quick little footsteps of rats in the attic. 

Eventually, Geralt manages to slip into a meditative state. 

~~~

When the soft light of morning illuminates Geralt’s little inn room he is still sitting in front of his bed. Slowly, he wakes up from his meditation. His legs are stiff when he stands up and he feels more exhausted than he usually does after a night of meditating instead of sleeping. 

The tight constricting weight in his chest still hasn’t left him yet. 

With a sigh Geralt heads down the stairs. He has no interest in food at the moment because his stomach feels upset. All he wants to do is find a contract and slay some beast. At this time he would like to, preferably, find something easy. Like a ghoul digging up graves or some drowners terrorizing a lakeside. Even a pack of wolves stealing sheep would do. As long as Geralt can swing his sword around and get rid of all his pent up emotions. 

~~~

The sun is almost setting by the time Geralt arrives back from his hunt. He managed to let his frustration out on a pack of nekkers. Normally he would take more time to prepare for a fight like that, the little bastards are mean and very fast. But the guilt eating away at his gut and the tight feeling in his chest he has no other outlet for, were enough to get him through the fight. Still, Geralt can count himself lucky that he didn’t get hurt. Nevertheless, the constricting weight in his chest has grown a little less. 

Once he has taken off his swords and armour, Geralt sits down at the bar and orders some food. He eats the bland tasting stew that he receives in silence. The barkeep keeps shooting strange looks his way. He must be covered in monster guts and smell like the cemetery. 

“The bard was looking for you this morning,” the barkeep eventually says.

As soon as Geralt has processed what the man’s words mean, dread settles in his stomach. He breaks out in a cold sweat and a shiver runs down his spine. All his muscles grow tense, his senses are on high alert. 

Instinctively Geralt hearing focuses. Suddenly the sound of shattering glass rings in his ears. Then he hears stumbling and cursing coming from upstairs.

“Jaskier…” Geralt whispers to himself before dropping his spoon in his plate of stew and rushing up the stairs.

Geralt immediately smells a slight hint of blood in the air when he reaches the second floor. Even though it’s only a hint, the smell and the knowledge that it’s probably Jaskier’s blood, makes Geralt feel dizzy and nauseous. 

With a loud cry of the bard’s name Geralt bursts through the door. 

He sees Jaskier sitting on the floor, his shirt and hands covered in blood. His body is swaying from side to side. 

“G-Geralt…?” 

Jaskier’s speech is slurred and his eyes cannot seem to focus. Geralt then sees the bard’s eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Jaskier! What happened?” Geralt calls out. But before he can reach him, his body hits the floor with a heavy thud. The noise sends a shiver down Geralt’s spine. 

He rushes to Jaskier’s side and takes him by the shoulders. 

“Jaskier wake up!” Geralt screams, lifting the bard by the shoulders. But Jaskier’s head hangs limply to the side and he does not respond to Geralt’s calls. “Come on! Jaskier! Please!”

Geralt shakes him a few times. Panic rising in his chest when this doesn’t wake the bard either. 

“Jaskier… Please,” Geralt mumbles and he holds the bard’s limp body close to his chest. Jaskier feels cold, but Geralt can still make out a heartbeat. His heartbeat is slow, much slower than a normal human’s should be. 

Geralt looks around the room frantically. The ground is littered with glass and he can see the spot where Jaskier tumbled into the shards and cut himself. The room smells strongly of alcohol as well as the heavy, acidic scent of fear. 

Geralt takes a shaky breath through his nose. The scent of fear is all around him and it overwhelms his senses. It’s not coming from Jaskier, Geralt would recognise it. The scent currently filling his nose is much more penetrating and sour. And suddenly Geralt realises that the smell of fear is coming from himself… 

Geralt’s heartbeat quickens, surpassing Jaskier’s slowing one and the smell grows even stronger. 

“A doctor! I need a doctor here!” Geralt screams at the top of his lungs, hoping to get the attention of the other guests in the inn. “Is there any doctor here?!”

Geralt is still holding Jaskier close, afraid that if he lets go the bard will never come back. Gently, he wipes Jaskier’s sweaty bangs from his face. 

“What have you done to yourself, Jaskier?” he mumbles, his voice coming out shaky and high pitched. 

When there is no reaction from anywhere inside the inn, Geralt can feel heat rising in his chest. It feels like a mix of panic and anger, and it sends a chill through him. It makes his eyes sting and his throat close up. He calls out again. 

“Anyone! We need a doctor here! Help us!”

Geralt is trembling all over, the tension in his chest making it hard to breathe. He presses Jaskier’s limp body close to his chest, hiding his face in the bard’s neck. Jaskier’s breathing is slow and irregular and Geralt can only just make out his faint heartbeat.

“Please…” Geralt whimpers to himself. “Please don’t leave me Jaskier…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry... again...
> 
> Comments are love <3
> 
> Twitter [@this_gdmn_thing](https://twitter.com/This_gdmn_thing)  
> [(in case anyone needs it)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)


	7. Empathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt of Rivia has some Feelings.
> 
>  **Content warning:** vomit

**Empathy**

_I'll darn you back together, when you think that you're bereft..._

Geralt is sitting on the bed next to Jaskier’s unconscious body, his head in his hands. 

After what felt like an eternity, a healer had arrived. She had found Geralt on the floor, clutching the bard to his chest. She had helped him carry Jaskier to the bed. Geralt had bandaged Jaskier’s wounds after the healer pulled the glass splinters out of his skin. Geralt didn’t trust himself to help her with it, his hands were too shaky and he was afraid he would only make things worse. 

Now the healer is preparing some potion while Geralt waits in agony for his bard to wake up again. 

“Will he be alright..?” Geralt asks, his voice comes out more shaky and high pitched than he intents. 

“His body is trying hard to clear the alcohol from his system. But he’s weak from malnourishment so it might take a while,” the healer replies, looking Geralt in the eye. “He might remain unconscious for several days... if he wakes up at all.”

Geralt meets her gaze with wide eyes. Then he looks over at Jaskier and his expression changes into a sad frown. Gently he strokes the bard’s cheek.

“It is important that you make him drink this potion every day. It will keep him hydrated and will help him regain some strength,” the healer says, handing him a few vials of the potion. “I already gave him a stronger dose today but make sure to give him this until he is able to eat again.”

“Thank you,” Geralt whispers. 

“Make sure to check on him regularly. And when you leave him alone for a bit, turn him on his side so he doesn’t choke on his own vomit.” 

Geralt nods, happy to receive clear instructions and a bit of hope that he could handle this situation. The healer nods back and then she’s on her way again. She shoots Geralt a sad smile before closing the door behind her.

Once Geralt is alone in the room with Jaskier, exhaustion hits him. Geralt sighs deeply. He feels like all energy has been drained from his body. By the moonlight shining through the window, Geralt can tell it is already close to midnight. 

Geralt wipes Jaskier’s sweaty bangs from his face again. The bard feels clammy and cold, very cold. It’s almost like the life has left his body. But Geralt can still hear his breathing and heartbeat. Faint, barely audible, but there.

Although there is still a constricting weight in his chest and he feels like his heart is in his throat, Geralt can feel his eyes starting to drift close. There is not much else Geralt can do than wait, he might as well get some sleep. 

Carefully following the healer’s orders, he turns Jaskier on his side. Geralt can’t bring himself to leave Jaskier alone for the night so he sits down in a chair opposite of the bed. 

He watches Jaskier with sad eyes and counts the bard’s breaths. His breathing is slow and a little irregular. His heartbeat, on the other hand, is steady, slow as well but steady. 

Geralt leans back into the chair and lets his head fall back against the wall. He suddenly feels like he is being strangled and clenches his eyes tightly shut to stop them from stinging. 

_If he wakes up at all…_

The healer’s words echo in his mind. Geralt lets out a shaky breath and tries not to think about what would happen if Jaskier doesn’t make it through the night. It would be his fault… His fault that he left the bard and made him think he left him again. His fault that he broke Jaskier’s heart. Geralt groans, the constricting feeling in his chest cutting off his breath. He tries to breathe through his nose and calm his racing heart so he would finally be able to catch some sleep. He feels exhausted.

Eventually Geralt manages to relax and he drifts off to sleep. 

~~~

A gurgling sound and the penetrating smell of gastric acid wakes Geralt a few hours later. 

Immediately he shoots to his feet and rushes to Jaskier’s side. The bard’s still unconscious body retches up a small stream of vomit. Geralt turns him further onto his side to make sure Jaskier doesn’t choke on it. 

The liquid that leaves Jaskier’s body smells strongly of alcohol and is almost completely clear. It pains Geralt to see the evidence of how Jaskier failed to take care of himself. Of how the bard, because of pain caused by Geralt, neglected himself. How he almost drank himself to death. 

Geralt holds him tightly by the shoulders as Jaskier’s stomach muscles continue to contract and shake his body. He feels limp and cold. Geralt feels his eyes sting again at the thought that the bard might not wake up. If even violently expelling everything that’s in his stomach doesn’t wake the boy, what will..?

Only when Jaskier’s breathing is slowing down again and Geralt is sure that he won’t throw up again, he goes to get a cloth and some water. Gently, Geralt cleans Jaskier’s face and body. Then he washes the floor to get rid of the horrid, acidic smell. 

When he’s done he sits next to Jaskier on the bed. He gently caresses the bard’s cheek. 

“I’m so sorry for everything,” Geralt whispers as he wipes the bard’s bangs from his face. Jaskier still feels cold and he’s shivering. Geralt has already wrapped him in all the spare blankets in the room to make sure he stays warm.

With a little hesitation, Geralt takes off his boots and climbs into the bed next to Jaskier. He hugs the bard’s body close to his chest. Immediately it feels like Jaskier’s unconscious form tries to absorb all his heat. With a sad sigh Geralt buries his head into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. He places a small kiss there. It feels wrong to be close to Jaskier in such an intimate manner when he’s unconscious. But at the same time, this is the only way Geralt can provide the bard with more warmth.

“Please come back to me, Jaskier…” Geralt mumbles before drifting off to sleep again.

~~~

Geralt wakes up warm, his arms tightly pressing a body to his chest and harsh daylight shining on his face. He feels disoriented for a moment until he realises he’s holding Jaskier. It startles him a little and he quickly gets up from the bed. Jaskier is still unconscious however.

As far as he can tell by the bright light filling the little inn room, it’s already noon. He slept for a very long time but still, Geralt feels exhausted. 

A wave off concern washes over him when he realises he has slept _for a very long time_. Geralt hearing focuses. Luckily he can still hear Jaskier’s breathing and heartbeat. Both are still slow but to Geralt’s relief, neither have stopped. 

He reaches for the vials the healer has given him. He uncorks one and gently lifts Jaskier’s head from the pillow before putting the vial to his lips. Slowly he lets the liquid run into the bard’s mouth. He tilts Jaskier’s head back. Luckily he doesn’t start coughing or choking and the liquid runs into his stomach instead of his lungs.

When he has laid Jaskier’s head back onto the pillow he kneels beside the bed. He softly touches the bard’s cheek. He feels a little warmer and no longer sweaty, one could call that progress. But Jaskier has no reaction to Geralt stroking his finger gently over his eyelashes. No automatic fluttering of his eyes. 

Geralt sighs heavily. He can feel his bottom lip trembling as the tight feeling in his chest increases. It’s like the tightness is pushing his heart into his throat. It takes his breath away. 

“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve ever done to you,” he whimpers to himself. His voice comes out shaky. “And I’m even more sorry for all the things I haven’t done. F-for all the kindness I haven’t shown you…”

Why is it so much easier for Geralt to say all these words when Jaskier can’t hear them? Why could he not just say he was sorry? Why could he not just tell Jaskier he missed him badly, that he regrets his words? 

Geralt grabs Jaskier’s hand and squeezes it. “I’m so _fucking_ sorry, Jaskier…”

~~~

When the sun is setting again, Geralt is still sitting at Jaskier’s side. He’s watching him closely.

Then there is a soft knock on the door. A maid peeks her head inside the room.

“I’m sorry to bother you sir,” she says softly. “But I heard about what happened and was wondering if I could bring you something to eat?”

“No thank you,” Geralt replies, his eyes not leaving the bard’s unconscious form. “Not hungry.”

With a little nod, the maid leaves again. 

Geralt is not hungry. The feeling of dread in his stomach is upsetting it too much to be able to eat. Besides, there is a lump in his throat that he cannot swallow. Geralt wonders if he would even be able to get any food down with the way his throat feels blocked.

Geralt is starting to get restless. He’s tapping his foot and fidgeting with his fingers. Jaskier has been unconscious for almost an entire day now. That can’t be a good sign. He doesn’t seem to be getting any better. 

Geralt focuses his hearing on Jaskier’s breathing again. It is starting to grow more irregular again. During the day it had been calm and steady. But now it sounded like he was gasping in little breaths with long pauses in between. 

“Please hang in there Jaskier…” Geralt whispers as he grabs the bard’s hand. He squeezes it, more to try and ground himself than to comfort Jaskier. “I-I can’t… I-I can’t lose you…”

_Not again._

_Not again because of my own stupid mistakes..._

With a defeated sigh, Geralt lets his head fall onto Jaskier’s hand. He can barely feel a pulse through the bard’s wrist and the thought that Jaskier might actually not make it through the night sends a sharp pain through his chest. It feels like all the air has been stolen from his lungs. He takes a trembling breath. His eyes are stinging and his lip is quivering. 

_I loved you Geralt._

Jaskier’s words from a few days ago ring through his head. Suddenly Geralt is overcome with the need to cry out. It feels like his heart is being ripped from his chest. 

This must have been the way Jaskier felt when Geralt screamed at him on the mountain. This must be what it feels like to have your heart broken. This must be what it feels like to have everything you _love_ torn from your grasp.

_I love you, Jaskier..._

With a little whimper, Geralt buries his head into his hands. He claws at his hair in frustration. There's a tight weight in his chest that is threatening to escape through his throat. Geralt's breaths are coming out in hiccups, and his shoulders shake with each irregular inhale. 

"G-Geralt?" 

The soft, confused cry makes Geralt's head shoot up. 

"Jaskier!" Geralt gasps when he sees the boy’s dazed but open eyes look up at him. Before Geralt can think of any other response he pulls the bard to his chest. "I thought I'd lost you…"

He feels Jaskier freeze in his grip but he does not push Geralt away. Geralt is still panting, the tight weight in his chest bursting with relief. He's slightly shaking against Jaskier. 

After a little while, the bard raises his hand to push at Geralt's shoulder. 

Wide-eyed and realising that he might be crushing Jaskier in his embrace, Geralt pulls away.

"Geralt..?" Jaskier speaks again, his voice soft and weak. "A-are you… crying?" 

"W-what?" Geralt almost snorts at the question. Witchers can't cry…

But when Jaskier continues to look at him with a puzzled expression, Geralt raises a hand to his cheek. He finds it wet, soaked with tears. His other cheek too, tears still streaming from his eyes. The collar of his shirt is wet with tears as well, he must have been crying for quite some time. Geralt looks at his wet fingertips in shock. He hasn't cried since… since he was a child. Since before the Trail of the Grasses. 

“I-I think I am...” Geralt says as he looks up at Jaskier again. There is a wary glint in the bard’s eyes. He’s leaning away from Geralt. But there is also something sad and almost guilty in Jaskier’s gaze. Quickly, Geralt wipes away his tears. 

“H-how are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Jaskier replies and he lets his head fall back onto the pillow again. Geralt can see him struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“I thought you’d left…” Jaskier’s voice sounds weak and sorrowful. 

Geralt sucks in a pained breath when he can see tears forming in the bard’s eyes. Nervousness is settling in his own stomach. He needs to say something, he needs to apologize _now_. Before he really loses Jaskier.

“I-... I’m so sorry Jaskier,” Geralt chokes out with something that sounds close to a sob. A single tear runs down his cheek. 

Jaskier sits up again when he hears the pained noise escape Geralt’s lips, he looks at him wide eyed. 

“Oh Geralt…” Jaskier mumbles, tears are streaming over the bard’s cheeks now too.

“I know that’s not nearly enough to make up for everything,” Geralt says. More tears are filling his eyes and it makes his vision blurry. “B-but… all I can say is that I’m so very sorry for everything...”

When Jaskier stays silent another whimper escapes Geralt’s throat. He bows his head down, averting his gaze for Jaskier’s blue, teary eyes. It feels like something in Geralt is lifted, like something that was clogging his throat has dissolved, like a dam has broken.

“I-I thought I could protect you…” Geralt starts to ramble, his voice comes out high pitched. “I thought it was the best option... to push you away, so you wouldn’t get hurt. B-but I’ve been blind all these years. Blind for how much I’ve hurt you…” Another sob shakes the witcher’s whole body. “I’ve been so _fucking_ stupid…”

Geralt gets startled slightly when he feels Jaskier’s shaky fingers on his arm. He looks up at the bard with tears in his eyes. 

"I know you're not good with words,” Jaskier says, sighing. Speaking clearly costs him great effort. “However... you have shown me kindness in your actions in the past. But look… giving me the last rabbit leg is not enough anymore Geralt. It took you more than a decade to even consider me a friend. You never showed me verbal kindness, complimented me or told me you appreciated my company." 

“I’m so sorry for all those things that I haven’t done…” Geralt shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “P-please forgive me…”

Jaskier sighs again. “I-... I can’t…”

Geralt looks up at him. Jaskier’s words feel like a blade right through his heart.

“I can’t right now…” Jaskier says, averting his gaze from Geralt’s. “When it mattered most you chose her… not me. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that…”

With tears still in his eyes, Geralt nods. Although Jaskier’s words hurt, it only seems fair that he can’t forgive Geralt right now. 

“I-… I understand.” The witcher swallows hard and wipes away his tears. “But… Will you promise me one thing?”

Jaskier looks up at him with a wary expression. 

“Will you promise to accept my help?” Geralt asks, his voice soft. He’s looking to the ground, his shoulders slumped forwards. “Will you promise to let me buy you food and nurse you back to health?”

Jaskier’s expression softens at the question. 

“In return, I will promise to never leave your side,” Geralt continues and he takes Jaskier’s hand in his. “Never again…”

Jaskier looks from their joined hands to Geralt’s hopeful face and back again. 

“I promise,” he whispers before giving Geralt’s hand a weak squeeze. “Now I must sleep again, however.”

“I’ll be right here if you need anything,” Geralt says before he helps Jaskier get comfortable on the bed. 

Geralt sits down in a chair next to the bed when the bard has closed his eyes with a soft hum. He looks peaceful for the first time since Geralt found him again. Also, Geralt swears there is a light blush on the bard’s cheeks. 

Geralt can feel his own eyes starting to drift close. With a heavy sigh and a small smile on his lips, Geralt falls into a light sleep. 

~~~

The next morning Geralt wakes up with a grunt. His neck feels stiff from sleeping in a chair and his mouth feels dry. But the constricting feeling in his chest has left him. 

After rubbing his eyes, Geralt’s gaze falls on Jaskier’s sleeping form. His breathing is steady and his heartbeat has surpassed Geralt’s own again. 

Slowly Geralt leans forward and brushes his finger along the bard’s cheek. In reflex, Jaskier’s eyelids flutter and he turns onto his side. Geralt lets out a huge sigh of relief. The bard is just asleep, he hasn’t slipped back into unconsciousness. 

Geralt’s stomach rumbles and he decides to get them both some food. Maybe some other comforts as well. Quickly, he scribbles a note and leaves it on the chair he slept on together with his swords. He doesn’t want Jaskier to think he left him… again. 

A few moments later Geralt returns with two plates of porridge, some fresh fruit and even some cheese and bread. Jaskier is still asleep. Carefully Geralt places the food on the nightstand.

For now, Geralt lets the bard sleep. He needs his recovery. Geralt has asked the innkeeper to bring up a bath in about two hours. He knows Jaskier enjoys luxurious baths, and to be honest the bard smells like he could use one. 

After Geralt has eaten his own porridge to quiet his growling stomach, he picks up his swords to clean them. This activity doesn’t make much noise, so it doesn’t wake Jaskier. And it gives Geralt something to do instead of staring at Jaskier while he sleeps. 

When Geralt has finished polishing his silver sword he notices that Jaskier has started to grow restless in his sleep. He’s tossing and turning and muttering softly to himself. 

Geralt puts away his sword and watches him with a concerned frown. A few drops of sweat are forming on Jaskier’s forehead. His eyes are moving behind his fluttering eyelids. Slowly the bard’s mumbling turns into whimpering and Geralt can see tears start to form in the corner of his eyes. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt whispers as he sits down onto the bed. “Jaskier, wake up…”

Geralt gently puts his hand onto Jaskier’s shoulder. But this doesn’t wake him from his dream, the bard keeps tossing and turning and his pained cries are growing louder. Geralt is starting to grow worried and he gives Jaskier’s shoulder a soft shake. 

“Jaskier…” he tries again, but it has no effect on the bard. “Jaskier!”

With a cry Jaskier bolts upright. He’s panting, sobbing and looking around the room frantically. Geralt feels the bard’s body jump in fear when he meets his gaze. 

“Jaskier it’s okay,” Geralt speaks, his voice soft and gentle. “You must’ve been having a nightmare.”

Jaskier is still panting, his head in his hands. Geralt reaches out for him again and places his hand onto his shoulder. This time Jaskier doesn’t jump away in fear. 

“I’m sorry…” Jaskier mumbles into his hands. 

Geralt gently rubs his shoulder, trying to comfort him. 

“I brought some food…” Geralt says when he notices that the bard’s breathing has calmed down again. 

Jaskier looks up slowly. He wipes his tears away and looks at the abundance of food Geralt has brought him. He looks at Geralt with wide eyes.

“You didn’t have to go through all that trouble…” he whispers. “You really didn’t need to…”

Geralt can feel his chest tighten again when he sees the sad and guilty expression on Jaskier’s face. 

“I… I do…” he starts to stammer. “I do have to, it’s the least I can do. Now, please eat something.”

Geralt can see that Jaskier is about to protest, that he is about to say he’s not hungry, but then the bard’s stomach gives a loud growl. Jaskier hisses and clutches his stomach and Geralt can tell that it hurts, he must be truly famished. 

Geralt offers him the plate of porridge. Jaskier takes it hesitantly, not looking Geralt in the eye. The first few spoonfuls he eats slowly. Geralt tries not to pay too much attention to the wary looks Jaskier shoots him every once in a while. Slowly but surely, Jaskier starts to eat faster. When he has finished the porridge the bard basically dives onto the cheese and bread. Geralt smiles when Jaskier groans in appreciation at the taste of the soft cheese.

“Don’t forget to chew,” Geralt says with a chuckle when he sees Jaskier eat like a starving man. 

Jaskier laughs around a mouth full of freshly baked bread. The sound fills Geralt’s chest with warmth and his stomach makes a funny little flip. He leans closer to grab a piece of the bread himself and their eyes meet. Again Geralt feels his stomach make a little leap when he stares into Jaskier’s bright blue eyes. 

Jaskier is slightly startled by the stare and turns his head away. Geralt can see him smile and blush slightly. 

“H-how much did you pay for this?” Jaskier asks, his flustered expression turning into a sad frown again. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Geralt says, his own smile fading. 

“I-I can’t pay for all this, Geralt.”

A lump forms in Geralt’s throat again when he sees Jaskier put down the bread. The bard’s stomach rumbles again but he turns away from the food.

“I have enough coin for the both of us,” Geralt says after trying to swallow the lump in his throat. 

“I don’t want to be a burden to you,” Jaskier replies, his voice soft and shaky. 

Geralt wants to reach out for him, to comfort him, but before he can do any of those things the door to the room swings open. The innkeeper stands in the doorway, behind him are two young men carrying a bathtub. 

“The bath you ordered, sir.”

Geralt lets the men in and tries to avoid Jaskier’s sad and guilty eyes as the wooden tub is being filled. Before the innkeeper leaves, he hands Geralt a collection of bath salts and oils. 

After he has closed the door, Geralt turns around to face Jaskier, his bottom lip between his teeth. Jaskier is looking at him with wide eyes. 

“Please, let me… help you,” Geralt says, sounding slightly choked up. 

Jaskier sighs softly but does get up from the bed. Geralt holds out the salts and oils for him to take and after smelling each of them Jaskier pours a few into the water. He turns his back to Geralt before he takes off his shirt and breeches. He shoots a shy and careful look over his shoulder before also taking off his small clothes. 

Geralt needs to bite on his tongue to stop himself from sucking in a surprised gasp. Jaskier’s body is bruised almost all over, there are scars on his skin Geralt is sure weren’t there before. He is very skinny, the bard looks physically weak even. Jaskier clearly tries to shield his body from Geralt’s view and quickly gets into the tub. 

Geralt doesn’t realise he’s been tensing every muscle in his body until he relaxes again when Jaskier lets out a content sigh as he sides into the water. Geralt slowly walks over to the tub and grabs the soap. He goes to sit behind Jaskier and the bard lets him wash his hair. Geralt keeps his eyes downcast and doesn’t dare to look at Jaskier’s battered body below the water’s surface. Jaskier’s shoulders are tense and he jumps a little every time Geralt repositions his hands on his scalp.

“Why are you going through all this trouble for me?” Jaskier asks after Geralt has gotten most of the tangles out of his hair.

Geralt sighs. _Because I thought you were going to die and I realised I’m in love with you_ , Geralt thinks. But he doesn’t say it, he can’t say it, he doesn’t know how. 

“Because an apology in only words doesn’t make up for everything I’ve done to you,” Geralt says instead. 

“You don’t need to make up for everything,” Jaskier whispers, sounding broken and beaten down. “I know I’m a burden to you, you don’t need to fix me…”

Geralt freezes, his hands slowly drawing back from Jaskier’s head. 

“You can clearly live without me,” Jaskier continues. “It doesn’t matter if I can’t… If I don’t— If I don’t live…”

“Jaskier…” Geralt whispers, a sad tone in his own voice. He moves to the side of the tub so he can look the bard in the eye. “You are not a burden to me.”

Jaskier scoffs at his words and looks down at his hands. He is fidgeting nervously with his own fingers just below the water. “Since when am I not?”

Geralt feels a pain in his chest at the bard’s words. The hopeless expression on Jaskier’s face breaks his heart. But at the same time, Geralt feels a little hopeless himself. He has tried to show Jaskier kindness both in his actions and his words. Jaskier has taken his gestures reluctantly but he doesn’t accept them. Still the bard believes he is nothing but a burden to Geralt.

“You never were…” Geralt says, trying to make eye contact with Jaskier. “I know you might not believe me. But what I said to you… All the hurtful things I’ve said to you, I never meant any of them.”

Geralt bites his lip and he can see Jaskier doing the same. The bard still won’t meet his gaze. 

“And…” Geralt starts, swallowing hard. “I’ve missed you.”

Jaskier looks up at him then, his eyes wide and tears falling from them. Geralt can feel tears stinging behind his own eyes but he blinks them away. 

They stare at each other for a while and Geralt can see some hope return in Jaskier’s expression. A small smile forms on Geralt’s lips and when he blinks, a single tear he fails to hold back, rolls over his cheek. Jaskier smiles back at him and a slight blush spreads across his pale cheeks. He takes Geralt’s hand and gives it a weak squeeze. Geralt squeezes back.

They continue to stare into each other’s eyes. Geralt feels a very overwhelming urge to lean forward and capture Jaskier’s lips in a kiss. But he doesn’t. Jaskier is just starting to trust him again, he cannot ruin this by forcing himself upon the boy.

After a few more moments of suspenseful silence, Geralt breaks it with a cough. 

“I’ll help you rinse,” he says with a grunt.

Jaskier nods and quickly lets go of Geralt’s hand. He buries it between his thighs and draws his knees up to his chest. Geralt can see him turn red. His own breathing is slightly laboured and his stomach makes a weird flutter again.

Geralt helps Jaskier rinse and dry. He tries to keep his distance and give the bard space. But Jaskier is so weak that he barely has the energy to keep upright as he tries to dry himself. Geralt needs to help and his hands shake and his throat feels obstructed when he wipes the scratchy towel over Jaskier’s back. He tries to be as gentle as he can. 

Soon Jaskier is back in his bed, dressed in a clean pair of small clothes and one of Geralt’s shirts. Jaskier had refused at first and insisted on putting one of his dirty shirts back on. But Geralt wouldn’t let him and, after telling the boy again that he wasn’t being a burden, insisted on washing Jaskier’s clothes for him.

Now Geralt is rubbing out the alcohol and vomit stains in Jaskier’s clothes in the slowly cooling bathwater. He has his back turned to the bard but can hear his soft breathing. Jaskier is resting and occasionally Geralt can hear him take a piece of food. It brings a smile to Geralt’s lips. 

When Geralt is done doing the laundry, Jaskier has fallen asleep. Geralt decides he should try to get some rest too. 

_I’m resting in my own room. Call out for me if you need anything._ Geralt scribbles down on a piece of paper. He leaves the note on the chair again and retreats to his own room. 

~~~

Around midnight Geralt is startled awake by a piercing cry echoing through the inn. Immediately his senses are on high alert. His enhanced hearing easily pics up the sound of sobbing. Quickly Geralt gets out of bed. The sobbing is coming from Jaskier’s room and Geralt can feel his stomach drop in fear. 

Quickly, but carefully, Geralt opens the door to Jaskier’s room. The bard is sitting upright in his bed. Tears are streaming down his face and his breathing comes out in short hiccups. He is looking around the room with unfocused eyes, his hands reaching out for nothing. Another nightmare probably. The sight tugs at Geralt’s heartstrings.

“Jaskier,” Geralt softly calls for him. 

Jaskier’s unfocused eyes turn in his direction and he mumbles something incoherent but there is no sign of recognition. Geralt rushes towards the bed and kneels down next to it.

“Jaskier, it’s me,” he says, reaching for the bard’s hand. “It’s okay. It was just a dream. I’m here now.”

Jaskier lets Geralt take hold of his arm. 

“Geralt,” he says eventually. He grips hard onto Geralt’s shoulders and lets out a pained whine. Tears continue to stream down his cheeks. 

“It’s okay now…” Geralt whispers as he sits down onto the bed. 

Jaskier is still crying and holding onto his shoulders tightly. The urge to comfort and hold Jaskier is too overwhelming and Geralt gently wraps his arms around the bard. Jaskier immediately buries his head into Geralt’s chest as he sobs.

Geralt rubs Jaskier’s back and holds him tight until his breathing calms down a little. The bard is still shaking a little but his sobs have died down.

“Bad dream?” he asks, putting his chin on top of the other boy’s head. Geralt can feel him nod. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Slowly Jaskier pulls away from Geralt’s embrace. He looks at him with teary eyes. He seems surprised at Geralt’s question. Then he shakes his head.

“I wish I had my lute,” Jaskier says with a shaky voice. 

Geralt realises that he hasn’t seen Jaskier’s lute anywhere. Normally, the bard and his beloved instrument are inseparable. 

“Where is it?” Geralt asks, his voice soft.

Instead of answering, Jaskier starts sobbing again and buries his head into his hands. “They destroyed it!” he wails in between shaky breaths.

Geralt decides not to ask any further questions. He knows that the lute means a lot to Jaskier, for him it must be like Geralt losing his swords. Or worse even. Many times Geralt had seen Jaskier play his lute to calm himself down after a dangerous monster encounter. Right now, the bard seemed to miss this form of comfort. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Geralt asks when Jaskier’s sobbing quiets down a little.

“W-will you… say with me tonight?” Jaskier replies, his voice small and vulnerable. 

“Of course,” Geralt answers. “I’ll be right here in my chair.”

“No!” 

Jaskier’s sudden reaction startles Geralt. He looks back at the bard with a worried frown. 

“Could you…” Jaskier starts after swallowing hard. His eyes are downcast and he’s fidgeting with his fingers. “W-will you hold me? Please?”

Geralt's stomach makes a little flip at that question and a lump forms in his throat. He’s been having these sensations a lot lately...

He nods slowly and opens his arms again. To be honest, there would be nothing else Geralt would rather do. The feeling of Jaskier snuggling into his chest fills him with warmth. 

Geralt listens to Jaskier’s slowing breathing. He strokes the bard’s hair as he falls asleep. A fond smile tugs at the corners of Geralt’s lips when Jaskier gives a content sigh and buries his face further into Geralt’s chest. 

Jaskier looks peaceful and safe in his arms. Geralt could get used to this. He studies the bard’s face. Only now that he’s so close, he can see the crows feet around Jaskier’s eyes. He has never noticed them before. Maybe he has never paid attention to them. Or it could be that they had been there before but have grown deeper and more visible now. Geralt also spots a few grey hairs at Jaskier’s temples. Those certainly weren’t there before. Softly Geralt strokes the bard’s cheek. His fond smile turns sad when he notices how much older Jaskier has grown in the past two years. 

The heartbreak, alcohol and meagre meals must have really taken a toll on his body. Geralt feels guilt tug at his heart again. If he had just searched for the bard earlier, Jaskier’s body wouldn’t be so skinny, scarred and bruised. 

When Jaskier lets out another content hum, Geralt is pulled from his sad thoughts. All that matters right now is Jaskier pressed to his chest. Like this, Geralt can protect him from the nightmares, the heartbreak, the cruel world and from his own insensitive harsh words. 

Eventually, Geralt drifts back to sleep, still holding Jaskier tight. 

~~~

The next morning Geralt wakes up with his limbs entangled with another pair of long skinny ones. He rubs his eyes at the harsh sunlight that shines onto his face. When his vision focuses he’s met with the sight of Jaskier’s sleeping face. He looks peaceful, his long eyelashes falling softly onto his cheeks. His hair is slightly ruffled and stands up in a funny way from where it has rubbed against Geralt’s chest. 

He looks absolutely beautiful. 

Geralt can feel a warmth rise in his chest. He looks at Jaskier’s soft slightly parted lips. Geralt wants to kiss them so bad. But he would never dare to without the bard’s permission. He brushes his finger over Jaskier’s cheek. The bard gives a pleased hum and presses his face further into Geralt’s chest. 

Geralt lets out a content sigh himself. He could get used to mornings like this. If only he knew how to convey this feeling to Jaskier. If only he knew how to express everything he has learned about his feelings towards Jaskier in the past couple of days. 

Sadly the soft peaceful morning doesn’t last forever. When Jaskier opens his eyes and meets Geralt’s gaze, the bard jumps in fear. He jerks away from Geralt and sits upright abruptly. 

Geralt jumps a little too and quickly gets out of the bed. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you,” he blurs out, increasing the distance between him and Jaskier. He doesn’t mean to touch or be close to Jaskier against his will. 

“It’s okay…” Jaskier says, his breathing still slightly increased. “I… I just didn’t expect you to be here still…”

“I’m sorry again,” Geralt says, feeling nervous suddenly. He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. “I’ll get us breakfast.”

Before Jaskier can reply, let alone protest, Geralt rushes out the door.

They eat in uncomfortable silence. Neither of them dare to look at the other. Geralt tries to eat without making any sound, meanwhile his head is racing. He is mulling words over in his head and tries to think of a way to confess his true feelings to Jaskier. 

But every time his mind arrives on a somewhat coherent sentence he can feel his neck and ears turn red. Every time the sentence “ _I love you Jaskier_ ” pops up in his mind, Geralt looks over to the bard and nearly chokes on his food when he catches his eye. Jaskier is looking at him with a weird expression. Luckily the bard doesn’t have witcher senses because the stench of Geralt’s nervousness is overwhelming. 

When Geralt has finished his food he gets up slowly and takes his swords.

“I’m going to look for a contract,” he says after taking a few deep breaths to ground himself. He sounds surprisingly calm. “You just rest and ask the innkeeper if you need anything. Don’t worry about coin.”

“W-when will you be back?” Jaskier’s voice sounds slightly hoarse. 

“I’ll be back before dinner,” Geralt replies. 

After Jaskier nods and goes back to his meal, Geralt leaves to search for an easy contract. Again he’s having all these feelings he can’t get rid of without swaying his sword around.

~~~

After an easy contract of clearing some drowners from a nearby river, Geralt lingers in the stable. He’s brushing Roach’s coat for what feels like the fifth time. After giving her ear an affectionate scratch Geralt leans his forehead against his mare’s head. 

“What do I say to him Roach?” he asks her with a sigh. 

Roach presses her nose against Geralt’s stomach and blows through her lips. 

“You like him too, don’t you?” Geralt asks his mare with a smile. Roach nuzzles his pocket. “He gives you treats, doesn’t he?”

Geralt smiles at the memory of Jaskier giving Roach treats when he thinks Geralt isn’t looking. The mare had taken a liking to the bard fairly quickly when he began travelling with Geralt. And Geralt could tell by her excited steps that she liked it when Jaskier sang. She must have missed him too, the past two years.

“I-I think I’m in love with him…” Geralt whispers after a long silence as he strokes Roach’s neck, her head leaning against his chest. “I think I have been for quite a while…”

The mare pushes him back with her nose and nickers softly.

“I know, girl. You’ve been less blind then I have been all these years,” Geralt continues as he drags the brush across her head. “But how do I tell him though?”

Geralt runs a hand through his hair and starts brushing Roach down for the sixth time. 

“I can’t just… tell him. He’s just starting to trust me after everything…”

He looks Roach in the eye but obviously the mare doesn’t answer. 

“Do I just… start? Like… burst through the door and confess...” Geralt waves his hands around and laughs a little to himself. 

“Jaskier, I have a confession… No, that doesn’t sound right. Jaskier, I have to tell you something…” Geralt swallows. “I-I like you… No, it’s more than that. I lo— I… I love you?”

He groans in frustration and tosses the brush onto a bale of straw. Roach whinnies and nudges Geralt’s back, making him stumble forwards slightly. 

“Fuck… Why am I so bad at this?” he asks as he turns around and pets the mare’s nose. Roach nudges her nose at his chest. It’s like she’s telling him to go. It’s like she’s telling him to quit stalling. 

Then Geralt notices that the sun has started to set. Jaskier might be getting worried as Geralt promised to be back before dinner. He needs to stop hiding. He needs to stop leaving things unsaid before he loses Jaskier because of it. 

“Wish me luck…” he mumbles to Roach before leaving the stable to get dinner.

~~~

Again they eat in silence. Thoughts are racing through Geralt’s head. He is waiting for the right moment to confess his feelings to Jaskier.

Jaskier had been scribbling in his notebook when Geralt came into the room with two luxuriously filled plates. Geralt had seen Jaskier’s eyes grow wide at the abundance of food but he hadn’t protested. 

Geralt is eating his food with difficulty because of the lump in his throat. Occasionally he shoots a glance over at Jaskier, who is eating peacefully. The bard looks like he’s trying to restrain himself from devouring his food like a starved man. When Jaskier catches him looking, Geralt quickly looks away and the silence between them grows thicker.

“Geralt..?” Jaskier asks softly after finishing his last piece of deliciously marinated chicken. “Why do you go through so much trouble for me when I’ve caused you nothing but trouble in the past?”

Geralt’s heart is in his throat. He tries to swallow but his mouth has gone dry. This is it… He needs to confess, _now or never_ …

“I…” Geralt starts, his voice comes out high pitched and he coughs before continuing. “While you… While you were unconscious I had time to think…”

Geralt is looking at his empty plate, struggling to find the right words.

“I thought you were going to die and… and it hurt me…” Geralt places his hand on his heart to indicate what he means. “Partly because it would all be my fault and… Partly because… b-because I—”

He looks up at Jaskier and their eyes meet again. The bard’s bright blue eyes stare back at him with a hopeful glint, but there is still a hint of sadness hidden within them. Geralt reaches for Jaskier’s hand and takes it in his. Jaskier lets him but doesn’t squeeze back. Geralt blinks and tries to swallow again. 

“I…” He takes a deep shaky breath. “I love you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes grow wide with shock. He opens and closes his mouth a few times and frowns. Slowly he pulls his hand away from Geralt’s. Geralt feels panic rising in his chest when the bard’s fingers slip from his grasp.

“I-I…” Jaskier stammers, his face falls. “I’m sorry, Geralt…”

Geralt feels his stomach drop and his heart shoots up into his throat. He lets out a little gasp, like the wind has been knocked from his lungs. His eyes sting and it feels like someone stabbed him in the chest.

“I— Could you…” Jaskier mumbles, his gaze downcast. He’s fidgeting with his fingers. “Will you… leave me alone, for the night… I-I need to think.” 

Geralt’s vision is turning blurry with the tears that are quickly filling his eyes. He blinks rapidly, trying not to let the tears run over his cheeks. Geralt swallows hard before nodding. He gets up and makes his way to the door. Each step he takes further away from Jaskier hurts. It’s like with each step his throat gets squeezed shut tighter. 

When he reaches his own room and closes the door behind himself, a whimper finally escapes his throat. Geralt didn’t think he could make that sound and he kicks the bedframe in frustration.

It doesn’t help to ease the pain he feels in his chest. With another frustrated groan Geralt sits down onto the bed and leans his head into his hands. He’s biting his lip hard, trying to stop more whimpers from slipping past his lips. He’s shaking slightly and his breathing is irregular. 

Only when a tear falls down onto the floorboards he’s staring at, Geralt realises that his face is already wet with tears. They must have started to fall when he closed the door to Jaskier’s room behind him.

Geralt swears he has never cried this much in his entire life, not even when he was a child. He thought the mutations took away his ability to cry. But it’s like something inside him is broken. Seeing what his words have done to Jaskier, how much hurt and pain he caused the bard and almost losing him, have filled Geralt’s heart with intense guilt. Now, after he finally got his thoughts in a row and confessed, his heart breaks. 

Geralt truly understands why Jaskier is reluctant to trust him again but it doesn’t make the rejection hurt any less. 

“I’ve been so _stupid_ …” he whimpers to himself, more tears are streaming over his face. “If I’d just… j-just searched for him earlier…”

Finally, Geralt lets the tight feeling in his chest escape and he sobs freely. His throat feels less obstructed but the tears do nothing to soothe the pain in his heart. It’s indescribable. It hurts much worse than any monster’s claws or teeth tearing through his flesh. This must be a fraction of the hurt Jaskier felt when Geralt yelled at him on the mountain. A fraction of what Jaskier felt when he almost drank himself to death. 

Geralt lets himself fall back onto the bed. He stares up at the ceiling as tears stream down the side of his face. It feels like all energy has been drained from his body and Geralt can feel his eyes starting to slip close. 

“I need to make this right…” he mumbles sleepily, still snivelling a little. “I need to prove to him I mean it…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY! I PROMISE A HAPPY ENDING IS COMING!!! 
> 
> Comment's are love <3
> 
> **Next chapter will be Jaskier's POV**
> 
> Twitter: [@this_gdmn_thing](https://twitter.com/This_gdmn_thing)  
> I also made a [Tumblr](https://this-gdmn-thing.tumblr.com/) but I'm not really active on there.


	8. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Jaskier's POV**

**Healing**

_ I know the kindest thing is to never leave you alone... _

“I-I love you, Jaskier.”

Shock washes over Jaskier. He had expected Geralt to say anything except  _ this _ . Suddenly the air grows hot, his little inn room feels too tiny and it’s like Geralt’s hand is burning his own. He pulls away from the witcher with wide eyes. His heart is hammering in his chest, it’s like it wants to escape and burst from his ribcage. 

“I-I…”

A million different thoughts run through his head and suddenly, it all becomes too much. He starts sweating like a madman and his ears start to ring. Jaskier wants to scream, run, drown himself in liquor again and  _ die _ . He looks away from Geralt and bites his lip. 

“I’m sorry, Geralt…” Jaskier mumbles. He doesn’t know what else to say. Doesn’t know how to respond to the witcher’s confession. He is so caught off guard. His heart breaks and swells and hammers and  _ bursts _ …

Jaskier can see Geralt’s shocked expression through his lashes but he doesn’t dare to meet his eye. The way Geralt gasps makes dread settle in Jaskier’s stomach. 

“I—” he starts before Geralt can speak or scream at him. “Could you… Will you… leave me alone, for the night… I-I need to think.”

Jaskier hears Geralt swallow and then the witcher gets up and leaves. 

When the door shuts, a strangled cry leaves Jaskier’s lips. He isn’t sure if it is a sob or a laugh because he feels like both laughing and crying.

“This can’t be true…” Jaskier whispers to himself, a smile on his lips and tears streaming from his eyes. 

How could Geralt love someone like him? A useless, good for nothing burden of a bard… Especially now. How did seeing Jaskier drink himself in a coma make Geralt realise he loves him? Jaskier is at an utter loss. He can’t make sense of what just happened and why or how Geralt loves him.

_ He doesn’t love you… _

The voice in Jaskier’s head makes his smile fade. He covers his ears and bites his lip, trying to quiet the voice.

_ He just feels guilty. You would burden him with your death. He just wants you to stop whining. _

“No…” Jaskier whimpers, a sob escaping his lips. 

His fingers itch for his lute. Or for a drink. How he longs to drown out the voice in his head. But he has no liquor left and no coin to buy another bottle. 

To try and calm himself Jaskier clutches a pillow tight and in his head, he replays everything that has happened since he woke up from his alcohol induced coma. 

He remembers the way Geralt was crying when he first opened his eyes. How the witcher looked relieved and had pulled him into a hug. How he made Jaskier promise to let him take care of Jaskier. And how Geralt promised to never leave his side… He smiles at the memories of Geralt comforting him after a nightmare, twice. How he had held Jaskier and told him he had missed him.

Jaskier’s heart swells with hope. The voice in his head seems to be at a loss for words with all the memories of the past days to prove that the least Geralt does is care. 

“Oh no…” Jaskier whispers and he covers his mouth in horror. The realisation that  _ he  _ has just rejected  _ Geralt _ hits him. That  _ he _ might have broken  _ Geralt’s heart _ . “Fuck…”

_ He’ll leave you again _ …

The voice is back and Jaskier groans. He buries his head into his pillow and lets out a heavy sigh. Still, he feels conflicted. His heart is telling him to go to Geralt, to fall into his arms and trust the witcher’s every word. His head tells him it’s all too good to be true, that he’ll wake up the next morning and Geralt will have left again. And his body is telling him to sleep. He still hasn’t regained his strength. Right now, Jaskier feels weak and exhausted. 

Eventually, exhaustion wins and Jaskier’s eyes start to drift close. His cheeks are still wet with tears and his heart feels heavy. But eventually, Jaskier manages to fall asleep with a single chant ringing through his head.

_ He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not. He loves me, he loves me not… _

~~~

  
  


The next day Jaskier wakes up when harsh sunlight hits his face. Everything around him is quiet and he feels lonely in the silence. He rubs his eyes and looks around the room. No note on the chair, no breakfast waiting for him…

Panic starts to rise in his chest at the thought that Geralt might actually have left him. With a groan, Jaskier lifts himself up on his arms. It takes a lot of effort to sit up on the edge of the bed. When he finally manages his head is spinning. Jaskier’s heartbeat is pounding in his ears from exertion and when he puts weight on his feet his legs shake. 

He gets up nevertheless, the dread in his stomach spurring him on. He doesn’t dare to call out for Geralt. Jaskier is scared he will get no answer. 

Slowly he shuffles over to the door. On the other side of the hallway, another door is slightly ajar. Jaskier can just make out a familiar set of armour flung over a chair. Relief washes over him. Geralt hasn’t left, the witcher would never leave his armour behind.

Each step down the stairs takes Jaskier a great effort. He’s still weak but nerves make his feet heavy as well. What will he say to Geralt when he sees him again? What will  _ Geralt _ say?

When Jaskier reaches the tavern part of the inn a familiar voice calls out for him. Geralt’s voice is soft, shy almost. The witcher is sitting at a table in the corner, a mug of ale in front of him. 

Jaskier walks over to him, his steps still a bit shaky and his eyes on the ground. He doesn’t dare to look at Geralt yet. Scared he’ll find anger or disappointment written across the witcher’s features. He sits down next to Geralt, panting a little with the effort it took him to walk downstairs.

“H-how are you feeling?” Geralt asks him, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Little tired,” Jaskier replies. His stomach growls then. “A-and hungry.”

He looks up at Geralt and the witcher nods. He gestures for the barkeep to bring some food. Then he turns to Jaskier, his bottom lip between his teeth. Jaskier averts his gaze, he still feels nervous and he’s fumbling with his fingers underneath the table.

“I-I bought you a present,” Geralt says. 

Jaskier looks up at him with wide eyes and when he sees Geralt reach beside himself his eyes grow even wider. Geralt places a beautiful lute down onto the table. It’s made of exquisitely polished dark spruce wood. The rosette is delicately carved and has details inlaid with pearls. The top of the body is adorned in tiny golden buttercups embedded into the wood. 

Jaskier gasps and reaches out to stroke the beautiful instrument with shaky fingers. Tears form in his eyes and he looks up at Geralt.

“I know I can’t buy your trust… or love…” Geralt says, looking at him with a hopeful glint in his eyes. “But I hope it’s a start in showing how much I care for you… Of showing how much I meant what I said yesterday...”

“Oh Geralt…” Jaskier says through tears of joy. He pulls the witcher into a tight embrace, burying his head into Geralt’s chest. “It’s beautiful!” 

The witcher freezes in his hold at first but then he sighs in relief and wraps his arms around Jaskier. 

Jaskier feels like he’s floating. At this moment all his doubt and the hateful voices in his head have left him. The gorgeous instrument sparkles in the sunlight and the press of Geralt’s chest against his own fills him with warmth. 

Jaskier looks up at Geralt. His sparkling blue eyes meet sparkling golden. Jaskier can practically feel the fondness in Geralt’s gaze. He sees Geralt’s eyes flick towards his lips and back again. Jaskier follows his gaze to Geralt’s own lips. The tension between them grows thick, suspenseful. Jaskier’s tongue darts out across his lips to wet them but he does not dare to lean in. 

They are both slightly panting, almost sharing the same air. Then the barkeeper places a board of bread, cheese and sausage down in front of them. The heavy thud of the board on the table and the barkeeper’s presence snaps both of them out of their staring.

Jaskier jumps and quickly moves away from Geralt. He can feel a blush creep up his neck. 

“L-lets eat,” Geralt stammers after a heavy silence. 

Jaskier nods. He eats slowly at first, keeping his eyes away from Geralt, mostly still looking at the beautiful lute which is also on the table. When his blush fades he eats faster, showing how hungry he truly is. 

When he looks up a little he sees Geralt smile affectionately. For the first time in years, Jaskier feels safe and cared for. For the first time in years, Jaskier feels like things are starting to look brighter again.

~~~

Sadly, the voices in Jaskier’s head won’t leave him in peace. They create doubt in his mind, make him anxious every time he does not spot Geralt immediately in the morning. Night after night, they wake him up screaming.

Jaskier dreams about loss and death and heartbreak. He has seen himself die a thousand times in his nightmares, both because of his own fault and at the hands of the witcher. He wakes up screaming because his mind conjures up a million different ways in which Geralt abandons him again or breaks his heart again. 

Luckily Geralt is always there to comfort him when he wakes up screaming. He brings peace to Jaskier’s mind and his presence quiets down the voices in his head. Geralt’s soft touches and patience take away Jaskier’s doubt and slowly he starts trusting the witcher more and more.

Tonight is one of those nights that Jaskier wakes up screaming.

In his dream, he had relived the events on the mountain. But instead of getting down the mountain in one piece he had fallen and broken both his legs. In his dream, Geralt had passed him, laughed at him and left him on the rocks to die. In his dream he screamed at Geralt, begging him to come back. 

Jaskier wakes up with a wail. His vision is still dark around the edges and it still looks like he’s staring at a treeline instead of his inn room. He screams again, high pitched and harrowing. He reaches out in front of him, but his hands fall onto nothing.

Then Geralt bursts through the door and after blinking away some tears, Jaskier is fully awake again. Geralt is at his side in an instant and pulls him against his muscular chest. 

Jaskier clings to his shirt. He’s shaking and wetting Geralt’s shirt with his tears. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” Geralt whispers while stroking Jaskier’s hair. “I’m here now.”

They sit like this, tightly holding each other, for a while. Slowly Jaskier’s sobbing quiets down and his breathing returns to normal.

“It’s the first one this week,” Geralt comments, wiping a few tears from Jaskier’s cheeks when he looks up at him. “Last week you woke up screaming almost every night…”

Jaskier nods and leans his face against Geralt’s hand. Gradually the nightmares are becoming less frequent, in some way that could be called progress. Last night he slept peacefully the whole night because Geralt had stayed with him until he fell asleep. It had made him feel warm and protected. 

“I sleep better with you here…” Jaskier mumbles against Geralt’s hand. A blush forms on his cheeks and his stomach makes a little flutter when the witcher gives an approving hum as a reply. 

“Then I’ll stay with you from now on,” Geralt replies. He lifts Jaskier’s chin so the bard can see the fondness in his eyes. 

Jaskier’s blush darkens. His eyes drift towards the witcher’s lips, they look so soft and Jaskier longs to kiss them. He still doesn’t dare to, however. Geralt is probably still figuring out his feelings, it’s not Jaskier’s task to force affection upon the witcher. Even though the voices in his head are growing quieter, something in the back of his mind keeps telling him he’s not worthy of Geralt’s love.

When Jaskier sees Geralt take his bottom lip between his teeth, he looks up at the witcher’s eyes again. Geralt is frowning like he’s deep in thought, his face tense. 

“L-lets get comfortable…” Geralt says eventually, breaking the silence. His voice comes out hoarse. 

Jaskier nods and lets Geralt shift his weight further onto the bed. The witcher settles himself high on the pillows so Jaskier can lay on top of his chest. Before Jaskier snuggles against him he grabs his lute. 

“This is the best gift I have ever received,” he mumbles as he strokes the dark polished wood of the instrument. 

“I’m so happy you like it,” Geralt says, a fond smile on his face. “I know the other lute meant a lot to you.”

“I don’t just like it, I _ love _ it!” Jaskier replies, settling his fingers on the strings. He plays a few chords. The instrument sounds beautiful as well. 

The first night after Geralt had gifted him the lute, he had stayed up all night playing to make up for all the hours without a lute. In the weeks that followed he played every day while Geralt went out looking for a contract. It does Jaskier good to be able to play again. It brings back memories of how things used to be and the new lute is a nice reminder of the brightness his future holds. It’s still a slow process, but the more he plays, the more his strength returns and the more his sadness fades away.

Jaskier is softly humming to himself as he plays. The soft chords bring a sense of tranquillity. He hears a content sigh escape Geralt’s lips and a smile tugs at his lips when he can see that the witcher has closed his eyes. 

Jaskier plays softly for a while. All the tension and bad feelings of his dream wash away with the music. When he puts down the lute again, Geralt is snoring softly. Jaskier strokes his cheek and smiles lovingly at the witcher’s face. He looks calm and absolutely beautiful with the soft moonlight illuminating his pale features. 

“I love you, Geralt,” he whispers before snuggling against the witcher’s chest and falling into a peaceful sleep. 

~~~

From that moment on they only rent one inn room. Geralt holds Jaskier every night. It makes him feel safe and the witcher’s presence keeps the nightmares at bay. During the day Geralt will look for a contract and Jaskier spends time composing. 

Jaskier can feel that he is growing stronger but he does not yet have the energy to appear on stage. For now, Geralt owns all the coin they spend. Sometimes Jaskier gets fussy about it and wants to promise the witcher he will pay everything back. But Geralt always tells him he doesn’t have to. 

“Remember what you promised me?” Geralt would say. “You would let me take care of you.”

The words always make Jaskier blush. At first, the voices in his head would yell at him. Tell him how he doesn’t deserve such kindness. Tell him how useless he is because he can’t even earn his own coin. How much of a burden he is to the witcher. 

But the voices are growing fainter and quieter each day. They are replaced by memories of Geralt’s affectionate smile, his patient words and soft touches. 

Like many other days, Geralt has gone out to buy potion supplies. Jaskier is sitting in his room and he’s putting the finishing touches to his newest song. He writes down the last notes in his notebook and starts to play the song in its entirety. 

Jaskier’s fingers glide effortlessly over the lute strings. The sweet melody resonates in the quiet of the inn. The song sounds soft and slow. 

_ “Your eyes tell me stories that I can understand… _

_ I have seen the future written in your hand…” _ Jaskier sings, his voice delicate.

_ “Now I surrender... _

_ I am falling down... _

_ Hoping you will catch me before I hit the ground....”  _

His voice is quiet, a beautiful vibrato reverberating with the lyrics. 

_ “You…” _ he draws out the note, letting it waver in the air.  _ “all I see... _

_ For you, I am falling free…” _

The strumming of his lute is picking up in intensity. He plays the chords louder now. 

_ “I have walked the steepest mountains, sailed the seven seas... _

_ I have been looking for you in every part of me…” _

The volume of Jaskier’s voice increases as well. He pours all his emotion into the lyrics.

_ “Now I surrender... _

_ I am falling down... _

_ Hoping you will catch me before I hit the ground…” _

Tears are now forming in his eyes and a smile on his lips as he sings the last chorus. His voice sounds powerful and hypnotic, haunting even.

_ “You are all I see... _

_ For you, I am falling free... _

_ You, my destiny... _

_ For you, I am falling free…” _

He finishes with a long high note, his voice soaring angelically through the inn room. 

Applause snaps Jaskier out of his musical trance. He’s slightly startled. When he turns towards the sound Geralt is there, leaning against the wall and giving him a standing ovation. Jaskier hasn’t heard him come in, completely lost in his song. He can feel himself turn red and quickly averts his gaze. 

“I haven’t heard that one before,” Geralt says as he walks over to where Jaskier is sitting. 

“I thought you didn’t like my singing and never actually listened,” Jaskier replies, a coy smile on his face.

“I do. I always listen. It’s a beautiful song.”

A blush spreads over Jaskier’s cheeks. He places the lute aside and tries to hide his face behind his hands.

“Thank you,” he says shyly, looking up at the witcher through his lashes. “I really feel like my strength is coming back and with that also my inspiration.” 

“That’s great…” Geralt says. He turns towards Jaskier and reaches for one of his hands. Jaskier let Geralt remove his hands from his face. His blush darkens when his eyes meet the witcher’s sparkling golden ones. 

Jaskier sees Geralt’s expression shift into a frown. The silence between them grows thick. Jaskier tries to read the witcher’s face but can only find tensions written across his features. 

“Look…” Geralt says after what feels like hours. His brows frown together and he takes a few deep breaths before continuing. “Why don’t we leave this place tomorrow? We could head back onto the road again... T-that is... if you’ll give me another chance of proving myself a… a worthy travel companion...”

Jaskier’s eyes grow wide and he gasps. More than two years ago he asked Geralt almost exactly the same question. At that time Jaskier didn’t know if the witcher was listening. It had felt like he didn’t because he had wandered off to Yennefer’s tent almost immediately afterwards. But it turns out Geralt did listen. 

Jaskier looks down at their joined hands and Geralt gives his hands a little squeeze. Jaskier squeezes back with happy tears filling his eyes.

“Two years ago you told me you were trying to figure out what pleases you,” Geralt continues, his voice a little shaky. “Finally I figured out what pleases me. It’s you Jaskier. It always has been.”

thick happy tear streams down Jaskier’s face and he lets out a laugh, squeezing Geralt’s hands even tighter. 

“So what do you say?” Geralt asks. “We could head to the coast…”

Jaskier’s heart makes a flip. “Get away for a while..?” he whispers, a hopeful glint in his eyes. 

Geralt nods and Jaskier can see tears filling the witcher’s own eyes. Geralt blinks them back and takes a deep breath.

“Life is too short,” he says. “And I realised that after I almost lost you. So if it pleases you… Will you travel by my side again?”

“Yes!” Jaskier all but screams and he throws his arms around the witcher’s neck. He’s sobbing with a big smile on his face. “Yes, I want to be with you!”

Jaskier can feel Geralt relax in his grip and the witcher hugs him tight. They are both slightly trembling. When Jaskier pulls away to look Geralt in the eyes, he can see that the witcher is crying as well. 

Geralt takes Jaskier’s face into his hands and wipes his tears away with his thumb. Then he brushes his thumb over the bard’s bottom lip. The urge to kiss Geralt becomes too overwhelming and Jaskier leans forward. 

Their lips meet in a soft kiss. Geralt kisses back immediately and sighs contently against Jaskier’s lips. He holds the bard tighter, pulling him into his lap. Jaskier’s hands find their way into Geralt’s hair and when he tugs gently Geralt opens his mouth to let his tongue in. 

Jaskier moans softly when he tastes the witcher. He has longed for this moment from the day that he met Geralt. Now he finally knows the feeling of Geralt’s lips and the taste of tongue. 

Jaskier can feel the tears on Geralt’s cheek mixing with his own. He pours all his emotion into the kiss and clings to the witcher, never wanting to let go. 

Eventually, they break apart, both of them panting slightly.

“Will you really take me to the coast?” Jaskier asks, leaning his forehead against Geralt’s.

“If that is what pleases you...” Geralt replies, placing another soft kiss to Jaskier’s lips. “Then gladly.”

Jaskier giggles and hugs Geralt tight again, pressing their chests together until there is no space left between them.

“I love you, Geralt.”

“I love you too, Jaskier. Now and forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have reached the end of this story my dears...
> 
> **I hope you all enjoyed and please leave me a comment if you did!**
> 
> The song featured in this chapter is Falling Free by Eivør. I highly recommend listening to the song, it will bring tears to your eyes!
> 
> Twitter: [@this_gdmn_thing](https://twitter.com/This_gdmn_thing)  
> [Tumblr](https://this-gdmn-thing.tumblr.com/)


End file.
